ORPHEUS 



And Other Poems 



WILLIS HALL VITTUM 




Class _£^M4i 
Book . Z'\^0 ^ 



Copyright N"_\^ I \ 



COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 



ORPHEUS 

AND OTHER POEMS 

BY 

WILLIS HALL VITTUM 

"But let some portion of ethereal dew 
Fall on my head, and presently unmew 
My soul; that I jjiay dare, in wayfaring , 
To stammer where old Chaucer used to sing/' 




BOSTON 
RICHARD G. BADGER 

THE GORHAM PRESS 
I9II 



Copyright, 1910, by Willis Hall Vittum 



All Rights Reserved 



The Gorham Press, Boston, U. S. A. 



©C1.A27S049 



TO MY WIFE 

This wreath of halting rhyme, dear heart, 

Is my poor offering 

Before thy quiet shrine, whose part 

Throughout my wayfaring 

In winter's cold, in summer's blight. 

O'er field and flood and fell, 

Hath been that of a pilot light 

To lands where all is well. 

Kut though the garland withered be, 

Thy love shall make it sweet. 

'Tis all I have. Despairingly 

I lay it at thy feet. 



CONTENTS 

Page 

Orpheus 9 

' The Death of Orpheus 41 

The Sirens 5^ 

When Bacchus Came 57 

Revery 75 

Yellowstone Canyon 79 

Indian Summer 82 

Lines Written at Indian Mound Park 83 

Yule-Tide 85 

To Marguerite 86 

Alongshore 88 

Spring Song 90 

A Poet's Heart 92 

After a Late Snow Storm 96 

In the Track of a Forest Fire 97 

My Star 100 

The Primal Strain 102 

Spring Idyl i<^4 

Absence 105 



CONTENTS 

Page 

Sunset Lights 107 

Keats Ill 

Shelley 112 

Milton 113 

R. L. S 114 

Lincoln 115 

A Sequence of Four Sonnets 116 

Proserpine 118 

To Fanny 119 

To a Crocus 120 

In November 121 

Unrest 122 



ORPHEUS AND OTHER POEMS 



ORPHEUS 

Part I 

Calliope, chief muse of all the nine, 

With bowed head and with bated breath I ask 

Thine aid and guidance: help me line by line 

Lest that I fail in my appointed task. 

Unworthy, I, to touch thy garment's hem, 

Yet now, before my song is even begun, 

Thee I implore for many a verbal gem 

To decorate this story of thy son. 

Oh, crush not out the tiny spark of flame 

Which, though presumptuous, yet is full of fear 

And longing to extol thy gracious name. 

And that of thy great son, in accents clear. 

I 

Aeons ago, mid dim and fragrant groves. 
In farthest Thrace, when all the ambient air 
Was vital with the springtime, and the loves 
Of bird and beast were throbbing everyw^here. 
Fairest Calliope was wandering 
Seeking that purple flower, the namesake dear 
Of sweetest Iris, whom the poets sing 
As goddess of the rainbow high and clear. 
9 



Charmed by the sights and odors as she strayed, 
Forgetful of her godhead on that day, 
She seemed a gentle, simple woodland maid 
Tempting her sister Nymphs to come and play. 
Upon her rounded arm a basket green 
Of wreathed willow hung, and, as she moved. 
She was the fairest maiden, well I ween, 
Ever by gods or heroes to be loved. 

So straying on she presently was 'ware 

Of fluttering wings and cooings soft and clear, 

When lo ! about her all the crystal air 

Was filled with gleaming doves both far and near. 

These were the doves, although she knew it not, 

Of Venus, who had flown from Paphos far, 

In that fair Cyprian isle without a blot. 

Where their great mistress is the guiding star. 

Enchanted at the airy dalliance sweet. 

She felt a sudden soft desire oppress 

Her swelling breast, so moved on footsteps fleet 

These lovely birds to fondle and caress. 

But like the marshy ignis fatuus, 

The wary doves evaded near approach. 

And as the waters of King Tantalus, 

Kept just beyond her tender yearning touch. 

Still striving to accomplish her desire, 

She followed where through wide dim aisles they 

sped. 
Pausing at last, to wonder, and admire 
The secret refuge to which they had fled. 

For here the trees had ranged themselves around 

A space no bigger than a little room. 

Where the bright sunshine, which its way had 

found 
Among the leaves, was dulled to golden gloom. 
The walls around this lovely sylvan place 
lo 



Were wainscoted with rare and lacy ferns, 
Such as among our modern city race 
Are reared most tenderly in marble urns. 
And round about, above the ferny wall. 
Between the whispering trees, were interlaced 
Sweet shrubs and slender flowering bushes tall : 
And chiefly that Syringa which is traced 
To the wild grief of Pan, who when he lost 
The lovely Syrinx, fashioned blossoms rare, 
So formed that when by gentle zephyrs tossed, 
Delicious odors fill the grateful air. 
And as the flowering branches intertwine. 
Creeping among them comes the ivy green, 
Emblem of joy, great Bacchus' sacred vine. 
Binding the whole to form a living screen. 
The only entrance to this vernal bower 
Was garlanded with drooping trumpet vine. 
Where brown bees hummed e'en at the noon-tide 

hour. 
Rifling the blossoms of their dewy wine. 
The emerald floor was sparkling with the eyes 
Of early flowers, children of youthful spring, 
Narcissi fair recalled their parent's sighs, 
And hapless Echo's aimless answering. 
The starry trefoil and the violet. 
The crocus striving first of all to be, 
The blood root with its dewy gems beset. 
And faintly blushing, pure anemone. 
Midmost of all arose a rounded bank 
Cushioned with springy mosses crisp and deep. 
Exhaling odors cool and fresh and dank, 
Inviting to the poppy-lidded sleep. 
Just at one side a tiny rivulet 
Bickered 'mongst osier roots and mossy stones. 
Laving the plants along its borders set, 
And babbling in most sweet and drowsy tones. 
Enshrined within this cooling restful dell, 
II 



Her heart enthralled by many a fair conceit, 

The pensive maiden yields to Fancy's spell 

Drawing her down where sleep and waking meet. 

Low humming of the gauzy-winged bees, 

The ring-doves crooning in the tree tops there. 

The babbling brook, the odors, — all of these 

Combine her drowsy senses to ensnare. 

Scarce knowing what she did, the dreamy maid 

Laid her fair limbs along the mossy bank, 

And like a closing flower, unafraid, 

Through pleasant dreams to deepest Lethe sank. 

As chance decreed, sweeping through upper air, 

Apollo, lighting in that self-same wood. 

Espied the beauties of the bower fair, 

And soon within the flowery entrance stood. 

Enraptured at the sight, and scarcely deeming 

The vision true, so quietly she slept. 

He stood adoring, till from out her dreaming 

A sudden smile over her features swept. 

Then a sweet madness seized him and he flew 

Across the bower, and on her lips he pressed 

His own, and tasted purest honey dew, 

And felt the swelling of that silver breast. 

Swept into ecstasy from deepest sleep. 

'Twas thus Apollo won her, so 'tis said: 

There amid Nature's charms so pure and deep. 

That mossy bank became her bridal bed. 

Sweet infant bard, first poet of the world, 
Such was the mating from which thou didst spring. 
Within thy tiny body lies upfurled 
That fire by which e'en latest poets sing. 
The story of thy life, so full of pain. 
Sad disappointment down to bitter tears, 
Thy brief delight soon, soon, to flee again. 
Has torn true hearts these many thousand years. 
Thy bright lyre shining in the highest heavens, 
12 



Sole relic of a life so sad and sweet, 
Recalls our own scant happiness that leavens 
The bitter bread of failure and defeat. 

II 

Unconscious babe, around thy happy head. 

Fanning the air with gauzy pinions bright, 

Sweet dreams and airy phantasies are led 

To fill thy dawning senses with delight. 

While the great muse, thy mother, hovers still 

In deep solicitude above thy bower, 

Within thy very being to instil 

The love of poesy and music's power. 

And from Olympian heights of majesty 

Thy father fondly smiles upon his own, 

And promises both gods and men shall see 

Apollo's lyre descending to his son. 

Gifted in all above our mortal measure 

As there thou liest under Rhodope, 

Great Pan himself bestows on thee the treasure 

Of wondrous skill in woodland minstrelsy. 

For, in the years to come, he can foretell 

How closely interknit thy fate shall be 

With that of one whom now he loveth well — 

His own most favored Nymph, Eurydice. 

And now the ceaseless flight of passing years 
Has brought the babe to life's gay morning time: 
Midst childish joys, too young as yet for tears, 
Even now he sweeps the lyre with touch sublime. 
O happy child in these thine hours of bliss, 
Thine only teachers Nymphs and Naiads bright. 
Who teach thee all that sweet and lovely is. 
Obedience to the gods, and music's might. 



13 



Too soon, alas! the childish days are o'er, 

And we behold him here a stripling grown. 

All men his living harmonies adore. 

He Cometh now at last into his own. 

The sweet compulsion of his wistful strain 

The savage lion to his feet has drawn : 

Thrilled into gentleness by music's pain, 

The leopard dwells beside the timid fawn. 

Each bird and beast becomes his willing thrall, 

Hovering and playing round him as he goes, 

Nor tear themselves from the sweet yearning call 

Which ever from that charmed lyre flows. 

The shivering heartstrings throb and thrill again 

In unison with throbbing of the lyre. 

And quiver with a rhythmic, pulsing pain, 

Swooning in billows of celestial fire. 

The sobbing cry of souls in deepest anguish. 

The dark despair of hope forever gone, 

Piteous appeals from tortured hearts that languish 

In dungeons quarried in the living stone: 

The plaintive call of desolating sadness, 

The wistful following of hope deferred, 

The triumph and the. joy of j^outhful gladness, — 

All these within those magic tones are heard. 

Now comes the time when Fancy's specious smile 
Besets 3^oung hearts with visions of delight. 
Seeking adventurous spirits to beguile 
To distant lands searching for fortune bright. 
Yielding at length to this imperious call, 
With his companions, heroes of old Greece, 
He sails for unknown lands, whate'er befall. 
Seeking far Colchis and the Golden Fleece. 
Upon a lovely morn of early spring 
This band of heroes sailed from lolchos forth. 
With spirits dancing and with hope a-wing, 
Eager to see the unknown parts of earth. 
14 



Bright Phoebus painted all the ocean o'er 

With sparkling rainbows of brisk dashing spray: 

While gently blowing horns of Tritons bore 

Good omen to the voyagers on their way. 

Down in the crystal depths were clearly seen 

The dai ghters of Oceanus at play, 

Fair maidens in their coronals of green, 

More lovely than the flowers of early May. 

And out upon the curling ridgy crests, 

Floating among the dolphins sporting there, 

Sweet Panope in all her beauty rests 

Combing the glorious sunlight of her hair. 

For many days over the blue Aegean 

The good ship followed on the ebb and flow. 

While the young heroes sang a grateful paean 

To Aeolus, whose favoring breezes blow. 

After long weeks upon that summer sea 

The ship approaches sunny Lesbos' shore. 

Where such a welcome waits them as shall be 

Granted to travelers on earth no more. 

Here too, alas! end of thy stricken years, 

Down drifting through the pitying seas shall come 

Thy tortured visage, 'mid ambrosial tears 

Of Nymph and Nereid to its final home. 

The marvel-breathing legends of the journey 

By the great poets have been sung of old, 

More wondrous far than knightly joust or tourney, 

Or kingly meetings on the cloth of gold. 

Well was it for each primal Argonaut 

That the young Orpheus was of the crew. 

For many w^ere the miracles he wrought 

With his sweet lyre as o'er the foam they flew. 

When the fair Sirens' wistful voices called 

Drawing the very hearts and souls of men 

To their destruction, there to be enthralled. 



15 



And never come among their kind again, 
Then Orpheus by the magic of his lyre 
Wrested those hesitating hearts away 
From the accomplishment of their desire 
To seek the fair forms on the ledges gray. 
He sang a strain so weirdly wild and sweet 
That even the Sirens listened with delight, 
Forgetting, in the music's rhythmic beat, 
Their fate approaching black as darkest night. 
And later, on the t6ssing restless seas. 
When dire disaster threatened ship and crew, 
His music softened the Symplegades 
To ope their stony jaws and let them through. 
Even in Colchis, at their journey's end, 
The silver lyre controlled the mad caprice 
Of the grim dragon stationed to defend 
From all intruders the famed Golden Fleece. 

Triumphant now, they're on their homeward course. 
Each one assured of an immortal name: 
Renowned throughout the world for manly force, 
Made mightier still by dire Medea's fame. 

Ill 

And so they came to their own land again. 
And separated, each one to his own. 
Sweet Orpheus, with spirits pleased amain, 
Quickly to Thracia's flowery meads has flown. 
Charming and thrilling all, as long before, 
Again he wanders throughout grove and vale. 
Where the glad memory of days of yore 
Comes with each fragrant wind blown down the 
dale. 

Then on a day it happened, as he played 
For Nymphs and Dryads gathered round to share 
i6 



The flowing strains, there came a lovely maid 

As sweet and simple as the flowers are. 

And as she came within the music's sound, 

The maiden paled and faltered and stood still: 

Her heart, drawn from her breast without a wound, 

Yearns to those tones that bless yet seem to kill. 

Enchanted, frozen into marble pale. 

With w^istful eyes seeking the reason why 

Entrancing music makes her spirit quail — 

She stood, the image of pure poetry. 

What of the bard whose magic tones have wrought 
Such strange enchantment for this lady fair, 
^Vhose brow, as crystal clear, shows every thought 
As pure and innocent as mountain air? 
Only one look he gave her when she came. 
But with that look he 'gan the maid adore; 
Struck through and through by Eros' dart of flame, 
He wavered in her worship nevermore. 
For in that moment when his blissful eyes 
Beheld Eurydice so pure and fair. 
Love swept his soul away, and sweet surmise, 
And doubt, and hope were left contending there. 
And every airy phantasy and dream 
That bright Euphrosyne brings in her train. 
And every charming sprite of field or stream 
Brought lovely visions to his wildered brain. 
Till in an ecstasy of wild desire 
His fingers o'er the golden strings he swept, 
Waking the spirit of that living lyre 
WTiere midst her tenderest harmonies she slept. 
Then liquid notes down dropping from on high 
With sweetest music filled the listening plain, 
As when, from out the splendors of the sky 
Some shattered rainbow falls in iridescent rain. 
The golden strings, swept by celestial fire. 
Covered the gamut of our weal and woe; 
17 



Joy, grief, and happiness; the bard's own sire 
Could never bid more tuneful numbers flow. 
And in, and out, and through the music's maze, 
Now here, now there, flitting on fitful wing. 
Recurring ever, comes the maiden's praise. 
'Tis love, triumphant love, that strikes the string! 
What maid such wooing sweet could long with- 
stand ? 
Soon to enraptured Orpheus she confessed 
Her growing love, and that confession spanned 
The gulf twixt dire despair and visions blest. 

All secrecy was laid aside at last, 
And the blue heavens smiled upon their love. 
Great Pan gave them fair greeting as he passed, 
And Nymph and Naiad with each other strove 
Who should bring fairest flowers and garlands gay, 
And dance about them in the happy fields 
Where, as young lovers should in month of May, 
He sues for kisses, she, denying, yields. 
So for a time their blissful life ran smooth. 
All graces and perfections thither came, 
Basking within their hapiness as doth 
A horde of moths about a torch's flame. 
And every Nymph within the laughing mead, 
And every Naiad of the crystal spring, 
And Satyrs piping on the slender reed, 
And every warbling bird on gleaming wing, 
And Zephyr of the cooling restful breeze, 
And airy sprites in lilies' cups who dwell, 
All gather, playing 'neath the whispering trees, 
Drawn by the magic of their love's sweet spell. 
And with them came the train of Fancy bright, 
Splendors and dreams and sweet imaginings. 
And sighing breaths of amorous delight. 
And steadfast Harmony, from Joy that springs; 
These hovering about the happy pair, 
i8 



Nestle within each clinging golden tress, 
And twine like tendrils round that lady fair, 
Whom by their presence they enchant and bless. 

IV 

But on a fatal and accursed day. 
As sweet Eurydice was wandering 
Through the tall grass, upon her sunny way. 
She felt the spiteful adder's lethal sting. 
No time to bid her loving lord farewell, 
But swept at once along the downward path 
That leads to Pluto's regions, that dread hell 
Where all are gathered after earthly death. 
Her moaning cries unanswered must remain, 
For Orpheus has crossed full many a hill. 
Soothing and shielding other hearts from pain 
Which, soon. Oh soon, his stricken breast shall fill 
Then was her absence known, and now^ the wood 
Reechoes to the wild despairing cries 
(^f Nymph and Naiad and each spirit good 
Searching her path with wide fear-stricken eyes. 
And when upon the fatal spot they strayed 
Where the dull adder's loathly coil was spread, 
One drop of that dear blood upon a blade 
Of shrinking grass, betrayed the deed of dread. 
O cursed beast, forever doomed to crawl 
Upon thy belly through the mud and slime. 
Forever shall man's wrath upon thee fall, 
Loathing shall follow thee to end of time. 

Who shall describe the wild drear loneliness 
Of Orpheus as he strays among the hills 
Thinking upon each loving kind caress 
Of the dear Nymph whose loss his spirit kills? 
No softening tear is loosened from those eyes 
W^ide open, straining over field and dell, 
19 



Seeking the slender graceful form that lies 
Forever graven in each crystal well. 
The spirit of his lyre distraught did go, 
Her music turned to sad complainings drear, 
Without the master's hand to guide her woe, 
Low shuddering moans alone may reach the ear. 
Sweet stricken bard, all Nature shares thy grief: 
The shivering aspen whispers soft and low, 
The willow droops each slender shining leaf 
And through the years still bears thy weight of 

woe. 
The sombre pine threw down his choicest cones 
When sighing Zephyr told the dismal tale, 
And wept balsamic tears, amid his moans, 
Whose sad funereal fragrance filled the vale. 
Each weeping lily from its silver vase 
Pours forth its treasured store of dewy w^ine, 
And toward the smiling sky turns not its face, 
But drooping sadly there doth still repine. 
And all the Nymphs and Naiads who erstwhile 
Had basked within the sunshine of her love. 
Remembering that pure heart so free from guile, 
Now grieved heartbrokenly as mourning dove. 
But tenderest sympathy avails not here. 
Distracted Orpheus roams the hills alone, 
Seaching the wilds without or hope or fear, 
His life one sad and dreary monotone. 

At last a sudden stern resolve possessed 
His bleeding spirit, and he turned to go 
To that dim unknown land in farthest west 
Where opes the portal to the realms below. 
And as he journeyed on his dreadful way 
He called with mad intensity upon 
His mighty mother, for her aid and stay. 
And to his father on his fiery throne. 
Beseeching them in the dear name of love 
20 



To help him now in his great agony, 

To find such tones as Pluto's heart should move, 

And bend the will of stern Persephone. 

Full manj^ times the moon did wax and wane 
Before he reached the gloomy groves that stand 
Surrounding the grim portal to the pain 
And suffering of iron Pluto's land. 
Now as he entered on the dismal way. 
Strange plants surrounded him on every side; 
The deadly nightshade that doth ever slay 
All living things that near it would abide. 
And its malignant potency was shown 
By pitiful dead songsters of the air 
Thickly about the fatal bushes strewn, 
Slaughtered for tasting of those berries fair. 
And just beyond a mournful sight was seen 
Where, gasping out its final fainting breath, 
A tiny humming bird of emerald green 
Was folded in the vile and sticky sheath 
Of a strange murderous plant, whose honied leaves 
Possess the dreadful and uncanny power 
Of closing round all humming honey thieves, 
And the poor helpless victim to devour. 
And loathsome pulpous fronds of spotted plants 
Whose noisome exhalations choke the breath, 
Among whose grisly roots there ever haunts 
The viper with the forked tongue of death. 
And mosses like a million coffin worms 
Planted on end and writhing in the dusk. 
And cactus grim that deepest scorn affirms 
For foliage, threatens with thorn-pointed tusk, 
And hideous blotchy leaves of creeping vines 
That cumber every stately forest tree, 
Whose baleful grapes are pressed to make the wines 
Poured for their victims by the Furies three. 
Each slender graceful plant that thrills the heart 
With pleasure when in flowery meadows seen, 
21 



Has here its swollen bloated counterpart 
Distorted into ghastly livid green. 

Unwittingly to this grim region come, 
The poet, heaving many a thankful sigh, 
Emerged from out that pestilential home 
Of horrors which all Nature's laws defy. 
For now those monstrous forests terminate 
And the undaunted traveler attains 
A rocky region, sad and desolate. 
Wherein the very soul of silence reigns. 
And as he presses on his unknown way. 
He sees the rugged crags now higher grown. 
The path along which without stop or stay 
He hastens breathlessly, winds ever down, 
Leading at last into a jagged cleft 
Where lightning's shock has sundered hill from hill, 
And through the space by strokes Titanic reft 
From solid rock, it plunges downward still. 
Here, close beside the narrow shelving way, 
A raging torrent's mighty force is spent, 
Covering the rocks with mists of driving spray. 
Making more hard that perilous descent. 
But with a courage born of wild despair 
He stumbles down the treacherous incline, 
Upholden, though he knows it not, even there 
By great Apollo's shielding love divine. 
At this there yawned before him black as night, 
Made terrible by snarling beasts who fought 
And tore each other in their furious might, ' 
The gateway to the regions that he sought. 
Not even here he faltered, but still pressed 
Into that channel through earth's bowels riven, 
For the wild longing in his stricken breast 
Was stronger than or earth or hell or heaven. 
When lo! the dismal entrance passed and won, 
He finds it but a vain deluding masque. 
For of the raging beasts the sound alone 
22 



Remained to fright him from his heavy task. 
Malicious imps come at their god's behest 
1 o mime and juggle in the darkness there, 
With foul intent to end his pious quest 
Now fled, their mocking laughter heard from far. 
And soon the rocky hallway makes an end : 
Then straight he enters to a strange sad land 
Whose vague faint half-light, (which no planets 

send,) 
Reveals a massive arch and portal grand. 
And just within the gloomy portal's centre 
Lieth that famed three-headed beast of yore. 
Who never yet forbade poor mortal enter. 
But holds him prisoner forevermore. 

This final barrier passed, dark Pluto's realm 
Now opens out before him far and wide 
Beneath dim twilight that doth ever whelm 
With deep despondence all who there abide. 
Vague shadowy swarms of spirits, in their pain 
Seeking that solace they may never find, 
Drift up and down the desolated plain 
Like swirling leaves before autumnal wind. 
These spirits drear ne'er had their mortal frame 
Laid piously beneath the kindly sod. 
Victims eternal of that earthly shame. 
They cower beneath the scourgings of the rod : 
For never may they cross the Stygian river 
While their dull lifeless bodies taint the air, 
Sweet peace and quiet visit them. Oh never. 
But leave them to dark desolation's care. 

The poet wanders now across the plain 
To a great river's marge, whose farther shore 
Is hid in clouds and mists and driving rain 
Which cover in that landscape evermore. 
Then out of the dark whirl, amid the din 
Of swollen waters rushing through the night, 
23 



Comes that stern boatman, old and bent and thin, 
Rowing full calmly in the flood's despite. 
But when he saw a living mortal there 
Amazement filled his eyes, and then he frowned 
And motioned him away, but still would stare. 
Seeking to understand, but nothing found. 
Now must the lyre touch aged Charon's heart, 
And soon pure melody filled all the air: 
Strange weird emotions did its tones impart 
Sounding thus sweetly in the turmoil there. 
The dim and ancient boatman trembled then, 
Sighing he motioned Orpheus to draw near. 
Bidding him sing those wondrous songs again. 
Prolonging thus one joy in life so drear. 
Then straight he stretches forth his shaking hand 
And guides the poet, with expression new 
On that grim upturned face ; and from the land 
They swept and drove the dreadful currents 

through. 
Beyond the mists and battling torrents whirled. 
He sees arising through the clearer air. 
The strange mysterious dreaded under-w^orld 
Where Pluto reigns with Ceres' daughter fair. 

Then from the skiff he hastened, and along 
The banks he wandered, 'neath the dreamy spell 
Which overtakes all those who roam among 
The mournful meadow^s of the asphodel. 
Here w^re those peaceful spirits living still 
The lives they followed in the upper air. 
But pale and colorless beneath the will 
That stifled passion, mirth and pleasure there. 
But ever those sad souls look longing back 
To earthly joys fled like a summer dream. 
Save only those who could endure the rack 
No longer, and had drunk of Lethe's stream. 



24 



The sunless hills are pierced by many a cell 
Burrowed within the hard and rocky soil. 
These are their homes, where they must ever dwell, 
Wrought by themselves with endless care and toil. 
Roaming among these meadows dim and drear. 
Where never change of time or season comes, 
Is for these spirits all they have of cheer 
Aside from that of their own darker homes. 

Thrilling with pity for their state forlorn, 
The anxious poet must no longer stay. 
But goes where hills, to eery figures worn, 
Border forever the descending way. 
For now the path again leads steeply down 
'Neath the foundations of the solid earth, 
Midst the grim darkness, now far deeper grown. 
Removed beyond all thought of easeful mirth. 
Here, from the valleys twixt the phantom hills 
Strange stealthy monsters of most hideous mien. 
Whose ravening maw the heart with terror fills, 
Watching along the lonely path were seen. 

Dragons whose eyes dart jetted streams of flame, 
And giants of the deadly serpent race. 
And that behemoth whose unwieldy frame 
Blanches with fear the boldest human face. 
Besides were elfins flying through the mirk. 
Shrieking and wailing like a soul in pain: 
None of the throng would any labor shirk 
That might send Orpheus fleeing back again. 
But none of these grim shapes had power to harm, 
Only to sight and hearing were they bold. 
So on he passed, though sooth to say, alarm 
Had pinched his face and shrunk his blood with 
cold. 



25 



V 

Anon he sees a ponderous iron gate 

Which radiate bars full cunningly enforce, 

Across the face of whose firm forged grate 

Stand letters hammered out both rough and coarse. 

Ages thereafter, that divinest soul 

Whose spirit straight from that of Orpheus sprang, 

Made the same journey through these regions foul, 

Guided by him who of Aeneas sang. 

He hath writ large the dimly lettered scroll 

So rudely wrought upon this gateway drear. 

Those words of terror through the ages roll, 

"All hope abandon, ye who enter here." 

The sullen gate swung gratingly ajar, 

While Orpheus, aghast with awe and fear, 

With sinking heart passed that forbidding bar 

Enclosing these sad souls in torment here. 

Then entered he a region full of pain 

And suffering that nevermore shall cease; 

Where sobs and moans and stifled cries in vain 

Appeal to vacancy and empty space. 

Here the dim flickering light can just reveal 

A spacious hall through which the wild winds rave. 

Revolving Ixion's huge wooden wheel. 

Which heaven's will has made his living grave. 

Driven forever in the dizzy whirl, 

His serpent bonds, writhing in maddened fear, 

Draw tighter still their loathsome slimy coil. 

While hissing threats ever assail his ear. 

Here his ungrateful treachery so vile 

To highest Jove, he rues day after day, 

Longing forever for the sun's bright smile 

Across the laughing meads of Thessaly. 

Near by, a vast and dimly lighted cave 
Whence groans and piteous cries forever come, 
26 



The shuddering air repeats, wave after wave, 
Those sounds of agony amid the gloom. 
Here, sating the grim- vultures' bloody thirst, 
Must suffer while the endless ages run 
That dastard giant, for his crime accurst 
'Gainst her who had Apollo for a son. 

There, in a space below a toppling cliff, 

That Phrygian king stands in a mimic sea, 

Consumed with thirst, his joints with terror stiff, 

He ever cries for help that may not be. 

The laden fruit trees growing near his face 

Bend back their boughs when he would reach them 

there. 
Ever tormented by the sight of grace, 
Ever he's doomed to disappointment drear. 
Well may he rue that ghastly feast, whereto 
Was bid each high Olympian on his throne : 
His false and babbling tongue well may he rue, 
Betraying secrets that were not his own. 
And not alone he suffers, for the seed 
Of pride and arrogance that he had sown 
Within his children's breasts, has for its meed, — 
His daughter rendered childless, turned to stone. 

Still further on the poet's eye doth meet 
A hill, whose sharp precipitous incline 
Is rendered glassy smooth by slipping feet 
Which for long ages labor here in vain. 
Here, while his sweating brow and panting breath 
Betray the dire exertion of his toil. 
King Sisj^phus, still striving underneath 
A monstrous stone which must forever roll 
Downward again when near the summit high, 
Forever urges it with labors vast 
To mount the eminence, and quiet lie 
Upon the top, and give him rest at last. 
27 



Divine communication never told 

The crime for which this punishment was given, 

But well we may believe his spirit bold 

Was full insulting to the powers of heaven. 

So there he labors, in the Furies' grasp, 

Nor may that stone the longed-for summit win, 

Forever must he strain and pant and gasp 

To pay the penalty of deadly sin. 

Deeper within this inner shrine of woe 
The trembling, heartsick, piteous poet sees. 
There, in the darkness, where the waters flow, 
The sinful souls of the Danaides. 
With painful toil and unremitting care 
Vast brimming jars they from the stream must lift, 
And pour them endlessly within the maw 
Of gaping cisterns in a torrent swift; 
For well they know their labors here will last 
Until these cisterns to the brim are filled ; 
Nor can they see, within the darkness cast 
About them, that the end is still withheld. 
Great shards are broken from the bottom deep 
Of each huge thirsting implement of clay, 
Whence purling rivers bubble forth and sweep 
All hope of ended labor far away. 

And many more within these granite walls 
Are here condemned so suffer endless woe. 
Here even the shadow of a hope ne'er falls 
Across these lives withered by tortures slow. 
Forever groans and w^ailings fill the air, 
Wrung from sad hearts amid their torments sore. 
'Mongst shrieks and curses foul and hopeless prayer 
These stricken souls must linger evermore. 

Fainting and desperate, the poet turns 
And hastens to the grim enclosing gate. 

28 



A sudden dreadful fear within him burns 

Lest in his agony he come too late. 

But, as it were at some divine behest, 

The gate swings open grudgingly and slow, 

And safe from out that terrifying quest 

He now emerged, stunned by compassion's blow. 

VI 

With footsteps faltering and heart cast down 

Again he turns into the twilight gray. 

In thought he hears those tortured spirits moan, 

Nor will those hopeless wailings pass away. 

Onward he wanders far into a vale 

Whose bordering hills are pierced with darksome 

caves. 
Where dim mysterious forms his path assail. 
But whose assaults his steadfast spirit braves. 
Here dwells that shameful and incestuous brood, 
Offspring of Death and his vile sister, Sin, 
An evil and malicious multitude, 
On pinions bat-like, tendinous and thin. 
Foul Treachery still stabbing in the back, 
And downcast Shame with her averted face, 
And Jealousy stretched ever on the rack 
Whose winch is turned by Falsehood's legioned race. 
And baleful Murder, with his bloodshot eye, 
And Lust, forever by his passions swept ; 
And those twin vices creeping furtive by 
Are grasping Avarice and Greed yclept. 
And legions more of that malignant breed 
With shrieks and bowlings sweep athwart his way; 
But his pure soul, proof 'gainst their utmost deed, 
Baffles them still and robs them of their prey. 

So faring on to calmer regions comes 
The poet, till, mid meadows dim, he sees 
29 



A placid stream whose current never foams, 
But flows forever on in restful peace. 
And here and there along its grassy shore 
Come wandering spirits, bitten by the pain 
Of keenest memory of days of yore, 
Whose joys departed shall not come again. 
These throw themselves lengthwise upon the turf 
And drink deep draughts of the quiescent stream, 
When rolling billows of oblivion's surf 
Sweep memory away like troubled dream. 
When this he saw he would no longer stay, 
Rut wandered further from the river's brim ; 
For Lethe's waters wash the past away, 
And memory was all the world to him. 

Then as he wandered, lighter grew the air. 
And ever hurrying spirits passed him by 
Till in the distance rose a palace fair 
Whose towers and battlements reached far on high. 
Through the chief portal of these massed piles 
Go streaming hosts of spirits sad and drear. 
For mighty Pluto in these gloomy aisles, 
With his three helpers, sits in judgment here. 

And then, Oh god of love, stand by him now! 

Far in advance, amidst the press he sees 

That slender form, that golden hair whose glow 

Is dearer far than sunlight to his eyes. 

Then from his inmost heart arose a cry 

That shrilled above the rustling of the throng 

Which straightway parted, looking lovingly 

On him who was himself love's spirit strong. 

"Found, found, at last! Gods, but the time was 

long! 
Thou dream and glory of this riven breast! 
Turn, turn. Oh turn, thou source of all my song. 
And bring this desolated bosom rest!" 
30 



With startled eyes brimming with love's desire, 
She turned to fly into the wished-for haven 
Of his dear arms, but Pluto's edict dire 
Prohibits freedom until judgment given. 

VII 

So w^as she sw^ept out of his yearning view^. 

Now must he win her back, whate'er befall. 

With heart on fire and courage spurred anew 

He pressed into that mighty judgment hall. 

The sight that met his eyes on entering there 

Might well the kingliest human mind o'erwhelm. 

Gold, silver, gems, in vast profusion rare. 

All gathered from their home in Pluto's realm. 

Here was a pillar reaching to the height 

Of vaulted arches lost amid the gloom, 

One shaft of limpid, sea-green malachite, 

Like tenderest lily's bud before the bloom. 

Yonder from out the gem-encrusted wall 

A graceful archway leaps forth into space; 

Of purest jasper were the ashlars all. 

With softest hammered silver held in place. 

Looking more closely he could see that all 

The pillars glowing in their lustrous sheen 

Were each a shaft of precious mineral. 

Never the like upon the earth was seen. 

For chrysoprase was there, and amethyst, 

And lapis lazuli blue as the sea, 

And agate like entangled vines in mist, 

And jade and topaz and chalcedony. 

Upon the summit of each pillar high. 

Of beaten gold, wrought skilfully and well, 

A capital was placed on which the eye 

Could see fair-carved the mournful asphodel. 

The onyx walls were crusted thick with gems 



31 



For kingly diadem or sceptre fit. 

Amid the darkness of that hall, their gleams 

By contrast made the place more dimly lit. 

And all those sparkling walls of fairest stone 

Were carved with scenes familiar in that hell. 

Of birds or trees or flowers there was not one, 

Save only the sad lily asphodel. 

His anxious eye at last is turned to see 

Where those grim powers in sternest judgment sit, 

There mid the growing gloom it seems to be 

Only a place for deeds of darkness fit. 

The awful dais whence they all look down 

Upon the crowded spaces in their might. 

Is builded of the rarest marble stone. 

Black as the darkest hour of starless night. 

And there, before the dais is a space 

Railed off from that which anxious spirits fill. 

Where trembling mortals are compelled to face 

Their final doom, whether for good or ill. 

But now a hushed expectancy pervades 
Those waiting spirits, and from out the gloom 
Comes a procession whose uncertain shades 
Most dismal 'mongst the gorgeous columns loom. 
First came those Cretan brothers, children dear 
Of fair Europa and of mighty Jove : 
In judgment robes voluminous and sheer 
Which rustle warningly as on they move. 
Then Aeacus, the keeper of the gate. 
Who with these brothers sits in judgment here; 
All three were far above all love or hate. 
Or coward weakness or untoward fear. 
And ranged about on either hand he sees 
Those grim attendants of the court of hell, — 
The Harpys and the stern Eumenides, 
Whose punishment of crime is fierce and fell. 
But still within the centre of them all 
32 



Two seats were left for the great king and queen. 

And now from far beyond the onyx wall 

The royal cortege moved upon the scene. 

Elfins and demons their great master's will 

In swiftest flight to its fruition bring; 

And hooded ghosts and imps whose duty still 

Is doing his behests on flitting wing. 

And fairest Nymphs, sent by great Jove's decree 

As fit attendants on the stolen queen, 

But veiled and silent all, as should agree 

With that grim court where pleasure hath not been. 

Now high upon the dais comes the form 

Of Pluto, his dark face serene and grand, 

But stern and sad from seeing many a storm 

Of pain and agony beneath his hand. 

Then, at the last, among these Stygian bowers, 
He saw — cursed ever by the memor^^ 
Of sunny fields and warbling birds and flowers — 
The sombre eyes of rapt Persephone. 
That flower-like face, for love's entrancement fit, 
Wfts shadowed by long years of nether gloom ; 
That perfect mouth and lips as honey sweet. 
Were like fair roses reft of their perfume. 
And, Oh the pity of it! now he sees 
Between her eyes, across her features fair. 
Stern lines that surely bode no good to these 
Sad spirits waiting for their judgment here. 
Soon were they seated and the court began. 
Swiftly to each was meted out his fate; 
And rapidly those imps and demons ran 
Conveying mortals to their last estate. 

Now doth his heart stop beating; at the bar. 
With pleading eyes, in all her purity, 
Emblazoned in his vision like a star. 
Stands she whom still he seeks, Eurydice. 
33 



No charge was made, her life was without flaw, 

Her record blameless, and she only came 

Before that bar obeying the strict law 

Which deals with good and bad in forms the same. 

With kindly eyes the listening judges smiled 

And told her she was free to go and come, 

While the great queen with gesture sweet and mild, 

Bade her among these halls to make her home. 

But with entreaty filling every tone 

She begged to be returned to Orpheus' side. 

There where among the hills he wandered lone, 

In his dear presence would she still abide. 

But grim and stern each judge's face was seen, 

The law's unchanging course must have its way, 

Each mortal who upon the earth had been 

Must in this land of spirits ever stay. 

With piteous eyes, whose voiceless pleading calls 

For help in this her dire extremity, 

She turns to Orpheus who instant falls 

Upon his knees before Persephone. 

With some vague memory of days gone by, 

She nods a kind permission to him there, 

For in his agonized beseeching eye 

She reads the presence of some unknown prayer. 

Uprising then, he took the silver lyre 
And, w^th a prayer for his great mother's aid, 
And inspiration from his heavenly sire, 
His fingers o'er the magic strings he laid. 
Never before nor since has music's soul 
Been poured in such a rhapsody divine. 
Such tones among the vaulted arches roll 
As with the quivering heartstrings intertwine. 
The haunting sweetness of that minor strain. 
Filled with divinest heartbreak, echoes still, 
Smiting the bosom with a sudden pain 
So sharp that e'en the dryest eye must fill. 
34 



Then as he sang, within the minds of all 
Grew up fair visions of the outer world. 
Plainly as if emblazoned on a wall 
Full many a scene before them was unfurled. 
The sighing of the wind through lofty pines 
Along the autumnal barren mountain side, 
High terraced hills with purple clustered vines, 
Overlooking valleys deep and rivers wide. 
Fantastic billowing of golden grain. 
The beauties of a flower-bespangled lea. 
The sweet refreshment of a summer rain. 
The open glory of a wind-swept sea. 
Then from the viewless spaces of the sky 
Drifts down a sheer delirium of joy; 
'Tis the blithe skylark only could supply 
Such ecstasy of happiness without alloy. 
Then arching over them come sparkling skies 
Where great Diana's lovely face is shown : 
About her every shimmering cloudlet flies. 
Sitting triumphant on her crystal throne. 
Beneath that witching light are dusky groves 
Where hidden flowers the charmed sense assail, 
And Nymphs and Dryads with their shepherd loves 
In blissful murmurs tell the world-old tale. 

Now to Poseidon's realm their thoughts are turned, 
Where Lycidas, (whose dirge no man may mend,) 
Lies deep within the sapphire caves inurned. 
While round his bier the loveliest Nymphs attend. 
Far o'er the level brine the snow-white sails 
Of graceful argosy and pinnace shine; 
From sunny climes they come, with wondrous tales 
Of joyous life in lands of palm and pine. 
Changing again, their docile thoughts are led 
To tales of love and sacrifice divine: 
Again doth Ariadne spin the thread 
That shall her lover's tortuous path define. 
35 



Once more they hear Andromeda's low moan, 
Too fair a flower for that grim rocky shore, 
While flying as on wings of tempest blown. 
Comes he who'll be her lover evermore. 
Whatever tales of sacrificing love. 
Of sweetest constancy, to all most dear. 
Of honor set all riches far above. 
The old earth oflEereth, again they hear. 
Then followeth his own heart-broken tale 
Of love's enchantments, and the ecstasy 
Of life in many a smiling Thracian vale 
Beneath the steepy slopes of Rhodope. 
And of the sudden loss that crushed him down 
So low that even the warning hand of Fate 
Could not deter from braving Pluto's frown. 
Hoping his iron will to mitigate. 
Then in the very throes of anguished fear 
He stretched out supplicating arms to her 
Who sat with eyes inscrutable and drear, 
And poured forth his last agonizing prayer. 

"Dread goddess of the shadow realm. 
Hear my heartbroken cry. 
Affliction's waters me o'erwhelm. 
Like ship am I without a helm 
In seas of misery. 

Oh be thou pitiful to me 

In midst of my deep woe, 

Guide thou my pinnace through the sea, 

Preserve me, let my sorrows flee 

Before thy gracious bow. 

Remember thou on Enna's plain 
Thy mother's stricken cry, 
Her sudden desolating pain, 

36 



Her tears like sad autumnal rain, 
Her hopeless agony. 

If of thy love for her one trace 
Still wrings that bosom fair, 
Grant me the blessing of thy grace, 
Oh turn not from me thy sweet face 
But hearken to my prayer. 

Shield me beneath thy mercy's wing. 
Thee, goddess, I implore. 
Such songs my soaring heart shall sing 
That still thy boundless praise shall ring 
Till time itself is o'er." 

He ceased, and as a broken lily stands 
Drooping within the sunlight clear and pale, 
So he stood waiting, while those wizard hands 
Were powerless as the new-fledged nightingale. 

But on the dais where the judges drear 

Sat erst in solemn pomp and majesty. 

Was heard the sound of stifled sobs, the tear 

Now visited those eyes of destiny. 

The cruel Harpys and Eumenides, 

Who still unmoved the keenest anguish see. 

Now joined with streaming eyes in piteous pleas 

That all the poet's prayer should granted be. 

The mortal sages earthly grief had known. 

And so wept openly, nor thought it shame, 

While on great Pluto's cheek the tears ran down 

More searing in their course than livid flame. 

That queenly head is bended low at last. 

Encircled by the fair embowed arm. 

While choking sobs that follow thick and fast 

Attest how deep and fierce is sorrow's storm. 



37 



When the first tempest of their grief was spent 

All turned with pleading looks to Pluto there, 

Who with still swimming eyes his vision bent 

On that fair head low lying in despair. 

'Neath the compulsion of his wistful gaze 

She raised her face one moment in her pain, 

When lo, a miracle! to his amaze 

He saw the face that on bright Enna's plain 

Had swept his heart away. All trace of years 

Within his saddened land was washed away 

By sweet compassion's touch. Besprent with tears, 

She seemed a rose gemmed with morn's dewy spray. 

To the unspoken question in his eye 

A fleeting smile made answer sure and sweet. 

Then thus to him, with look serene and high. 

Who stood before the mighty judgment seat. 

"Fair son of the great Muse, I bid thee go: 

And the reward of thy true heart shall be, 

And of the music thou hast brought below, 

The maiden of thy choice, Eurydlce. 

I tell thee thou mayst lead the maiden home, 

But as an evidence of faith In me. 

See that thou look not back, whatever come. 

Else must she dwell here to eternity." 

Down to the red core of his surging heart 
That Thracian poet-lover trembled then 
With joy so keen that his glad eyelids smart 
With tears of thankfulness, and hope again 
Sprang vibrant in his suffocating breast. 
Among the gloomy splendors of those realms 
Forebodings dire his courage had depressed 
Until this sudden bliss him nigh o'erwhelms. 
Now from the dais comes a misty form. 
Deep cowled and silent, who with gesture brief 
Points to the sombre entrance through which swarm 

38 



The hosts of spirits in their hopeless grief. 
Uplifting then his glad triumphant face, 
The poet cast one final look around 
On glories marvelous within that place 
Where he, and he alone, had mercy found. 

Forth from the presence of the court austere 

He passed, while footfalls light as thistledown 

Made sweetest music to his listening ear. 

In softest cadence following his own. 

Dire were the torments that he underwent 

Obeying Pluto's last commandment stern. 

Ever his gaze upon the ground he bent 

Lest that his hungry eyes to her should turn. 

So on they fared with minds and hearts elate, 

Past poppied Lethe, through the vale where dwell 

The vicious brood of Sin, past that dread gate, 

Down through the meadows of the asphodel. 

Now doth the Stygian torrent stop their way, 

But by decree of Pluto, the divine, 

Old Charon ferries them without delay 

To the drear plain where restless souls repine. 

Then o'er the plain and through the portal dim 

Where sleeping Cerberus ne'er openeth eye; 

And into that dark corridor and grim 

Where dwell those imps of aptest mimicry. 

Now, in the latest stages of his way. 

With hope and joy the poet's heart beats high. 

Soon needs no longer Pluto's best obey. 

For in another hour they're 'neath the sky. 

Then in the accents of that honied voice 

There shrilled a loud exceeding bitter cry 
For instant help. Those vicious imps rejoice 
To see that Orpheus turns back suddenly. 
Alas! the wretched poet only sees 
Eurydice swept wailing from his view. 
Cold terror doth his very bosom freeze, 
39^ 



And while he lives his weakness doth he rue. 
Then as the giant pine on Ida's slopes 
Amid the blinding crash of bolt from heaven 
Reels to its fall, so mid his shattered hopes 
Falls Orpheus, by stroke of fortune riven. 

As o'er his whirling brain oblivion crept. 

And active thought and consciousness expire, 

His straying nerveless fingers overswept 

The face of his forgotten silver lyre. 

The tortured writhing of the golden strings 

Sobbed out a cry of agonized despair 

Such as a desolating sorrow brings 

When hope is crushed by long unanswered prayer. 

Now breaks that loving heart. Oh nevermore 
Shall joy or gladness visit that sad breast. 
Never those lips shall smile, but still implore 
Sweet Death to give his wearied spirit rest. 



40 



PART II 
The Death of Orpheus 

Fair Thrace, thou cradle of the youth of song, 
Where every Nymph and Dryad sweetly sings, 
Roaming thy sunny fields and vales along 
While to their joyous strains the hillside rings: 
Where every Satyr pipes on tuneful reed. 
And nightingales pour out their melting notes, 
Deep down within thy shadiest covert hid. 
Whence to the ear their liquid warbling floats : 
Yet hast thou other scenes more bleak and drear, 
Where Haemos rears his rocky crest on high. 
While low-hung clouds droop threatening and near, 
And Strymon's torrents hurtle racing by. 
Here, these unfriendly hills and peaks among. 
Lived for a time he whom we all adore, 
His lyre attuned alone to sorrow's song 
Till death's release on fatal Hebrus' shore. 
Each gentle dweller of the field and wood, 
Each rushing Faun, and Satyr overbold, 
Each dripping Naiad and all spirits good 
The pitful sad story oft have told. 

Muse of the pure and tender lyric song, 
Look down upon thy humble servant here. 
Thou spirit beautiful and sweet and strong, 
Oh, listen to my calling, come thou near 
41 



And touch my pen with thine own finger white, 
And breathe into my soul thy sacred breath, 
So shalt thou help in fitting strain to write 
The story of his suffering and death. 

After his wild despair at Hades' gate. 

When Orpheus fell stricken by the blow 

Dealt to his shattered hopes by hand of Fate, 

Oblivion long enfolded him from woe. 

The desolated cry of golden strings 

Struck without knowledge or a sane desire, 

Swept backw^ard through the realm, borne on the 

wings 
Of the sweet spirit of that living lyre. 
Through farthest Hades, even to the ear 
Of fair Persephone still bowed in grief 
Awakened by those strains so sweet and clear, 
Came the sad cry of sorrow past relief. 
And w^ith the cry arose a woeful sight. 
For pale Eurydice swept fluttering 
Down to her feet in broken wavering flight 
Like butterfly on bruised and crumpled wing. 
Stirred to compassion by the bitter cries, 
She bade a dusky spirit at her side 
Fly thither where the poet stricken lies, 
And bear him, all unconscious, o'er the wide 
Vast stretches of the sea and hill and plain 
That lay between him and the shady groves 
Of far off Thrace, and place him once again 
Among the smiling meadows that he loves. 

And now the poet from the drowsy swoon 
Slowly awakens, but he knows not where. 
To his dimmed ears there comes the buzzing tune 
Of busy bees among the blossoms fair. 
And as he lieth peaceful, odors rare 
Enchant him with the summer's golden breath, 
42 



Till slowly memory returns to tear 

His bosom yet anew with grief like death. 

His roving eye in' deep amazement sees 
The well remembered sylvan scenes of yore, 
Whose flowers and rivulets and waving trees 
Shall give him joy or pleasure nevermore. 
Then pierced by anguish straight doth he upstart, 
And grasping firm the sweet enchanted lyre. 
Onward he wanders, death within his heart, 
Quenched now forever his celestial fire. 

The pitying Nymphs and Naiads come and go 
Waiting for those sweet strains he sang of old : 
But murmured chords of deep enshrouded woe 
Are all that issue from those strings of gold. 
The sluggish weeks and months pass slowly by. 
Time brings no solace to his riven breast. 
Ever the image of Eurydice 
More firmly on his reeling mind's impressed. 
Unceasingly he singeth of her loss 
While many a lovely maiden, sweet and coy, 
Would gladly lift from him his heavy cross 
And lead him back to love's delight and joy. 
His mournful thoughts are bent on her alone 
Who languishes in Hades dark and drear. 
Far, far removed from warming ray of sun. 
Or song of birds or waters running clear. 
Enwrapt in this fond dream he sees pass by 
All other maidens as dim shadows there, 
Nothing is real but Eurydice, 
Still to his eyes his living lady fair. 

Foredoomed to death, he wanders from the plain 
And seeks the rocky cliffs of Haemos high: 
There amid clouds and mists he mourns in vain. 
While from afar is heard his eery cry. 
43 



Yet higher up the stony mountain side 

He climbs, still breathing out the name so dear; 

No gentle Nymph doth in these wilds abide, 

Only faint Echo wanders sighing here. 

Roaming at will, he finds a little grot. 

Here doth he slowly fade day after day. 

Feeble the hands and weak that long have taught 

The strings among Pierian songs to stray. 

Those shapely limbs whose slender pliant grace 

Has carried him afar, too far in sooth, 

That radiant form, that clear and buoyant face. 

Are ravaged now by gnawing frailty's tooth. 

And veiled sorrow on her ebon plume 

Forever floats above his drooping head, 

So that he walks in shadow, whether gloom 

Or shine be o'er the rugged hillside spread. 

Seeing strange visions now, he wanders far. 
Ever his fancy one fair face deludes, 
Leading him onward like a guiding star 
To the deep vales where the dusk silence broods. 
And as he goes, he deems that all around 
He's scattering his songs so wild and free. 
Alas! the strings give but a murmurous sound. 
Like the deep droning of the laden bee. 

So wandering fitful through the rocky pass, 
He hies him on to rushing Hebrus' shore, 
Seeking that happiness which he, alas. 
Shall find among the sons of men no more. 
Till, straying aimless through a leafy glade, 
He sees the silver gleam of women's breasts 
And snowy sides, the dazzling picture made 
More dark the background upon which it rests. 
With thought confused in his dim wildered brain. 
He sees the sheen of that dear golden hair, 

44 



And crying out his joy full loud and plain, 
He rushes in among those Maenads fair. 

But hate and fierce resentment in them burn 
'Gainst one who dared to view their secret rites: 
Forthwith upon that wasted form they turn 
Whose eager searching eye their wrath invites. 
Then this wild rout, among the sweet green leaves, 
Crazed by some maddened Bacchanalian whim, 
Strike the foul blow that all the world bereaves. 
And fragile limb is rent from fragile limb. 
Now in the wanton rage that license breeds, 
His head and lyre adown the stream are sent: 
While they, forgetting straight their ghastly deeds. 
Again throughout the forest singing went. » 

Up from the mangled body rose the sprite, 
Exultant, throbbing in its ecstasy, 
And swifter than the starry meteor's flight, 
Swept down at last to join Eurydice. 

A gentle spirit of the mazy wood 

Had viewed the scene with horror-stricken eyes, 

And from the ghastly copse, bestrewn with blood. 

She seeks the mount where springs Pierian rise. 

Swept into action by the heartless tale. 

The sacred Nine, on glorious wings outspread, 

Down to the gloomy forest quickly sail 

Where that sweet shuddering spirit them hath led. 

Midst flowing tears, with tender loving care. 

The sacred limbs are gathered from the earth, 

And to Olympus the loved form they bear, 

Where all divine and splendid things have birth. 

Where beechen shadows waver to and fro. 
Where plaining nightingales' mellifluous breath 
IVlakes sweet his sepulchre, they laid him low. 
The gold and vermeil tinted flowers beneath. 
45 



But when Apollo heard the tale of woe, 
Sitting triumphant in his fiery car, 
Seizing his fell, unerring, golden bow. 
In wrath he dropped adown the ether far. 
Full soon that cruel band of Maenads bold 
Had reached the limit of their earthly quest. 
And lay disheveled on the soft brown mould, 
Each with Apollo's arrow through her breast. 

For many a rood around the fatal spot 

No gentle Nymph nor tree-born Dryad dwells. 

Each Naiad hath forsook her pebbly grot. 

Unheeded now the crystal fountain wells. 

Those fountains soon are choked with leaves and 

mould, 
And give no moisture to the thirsting roots: 
The grass is dead, the earth, now dry and cold. 
No longer nourishes the tender shoots. 
Each drooping leaf has bowed its faded head, 
Enmeshed by spider and the blasting worm; 
The trees at last have all their greenery shed 
And naked bow before the ruthless storm. 
And over this drear spot no bird beats wing, 
But looking down from his aerial path. 
In widest circle far aside doth swing, 
Seeking some grove not cursed by Phoebus' wrath. 
For many ages they who passed might view 
This desert strange with foliage sere and brown — 
A fitting monument for that mad crew 
Who dimmed the lustre of fair music's crown. 

Now doth the Muse with light compelling touch 
Lead where the Hebrus rushes dark and drear 
Twixt sombre banks, while winter's frosty clutch 
Is felt within her waters chill and clear. 

Far, far, adown her restless currents ride 

46 



That sacred head and lyre of living gold. 
And lo! in order due, along each side, 
A bright procession, lovely to behold. 
Fair Nymphs and Naiads and Okeanids, 
And Nereids from the sapphire caves below. 
And Tritons whom divine Poseidon bids 
Guard them wherever waters rest or flow; 
And dolphins on their undulating path. 
And hippocamps with blood red nostrils wide, 
And mane outstreaming on the gentle breath 
Of sparkling breezes flying o'er the tide. 

And so throughout the land, down to the shore 

Where spreads the isle-bespangled sea Aegean, 

Whence great Poseidon ruleth evermore 

The dwellers in his watery empyrean. 

Liparian Aeolus imprisoned all 

The winds that scourge the ever-changing sea. 

And flowered Zephyrus to him doth call 

And bids him waft those relics tenderly 

Down to the Lesbian shore, whose golden sands, 

Shall give that tortured visage peace and rest; 

Sheltered from every act of cruel hands. 

No more by cheating fate to be distressed. 

So on they move through pathless waters wide, 

Safeguarded from the briny monster's maw; 

Before them and behind the Tritons glide 

And force obedience to Poseidon's law. 

The rufl^ing wavelets in their rise and fall 

Give to the lyre a gentle swaying motion. 

Whereat there rises a sweet murmurous call. 

Soothing more dreamfully than Morphean potion. 

The watery cavalcade sails swiftly on. 
Wafted along by Zephyr's fragrant breath. 
Till, slowly sinking, the bright summer sun 
Incarnadines the daylight's coming death. 
47 



Now Leto comes, and with her shadowy hand 
Spreads her dusk veil the earth and ocean o'er. 
Still through the darkness doth the mournful band 
Press onward to the wooded Lesbian shore. 
Before the noon of night fair Dian's orb 
Swings quickly o'er the far horizon's rim, 
Wherefrom those gracious sea-born Nymphs absorb 
Comfort as down its silver path they swim. 
And when Aurora's dewy lips had kissed 
From off the earth and from the ocean blue 
The trailing darkness and low-hanging mist. 
Behold, fair Lesbos framed within their view. 

The mighty motion of the morning swell 

Wafted the lyre full gently to the height 

Of a low rocky islet: pearly shell 

And coral pink, and shining seaweed bright 

Were all its resting place. And here it lay 

Forsaken, on that lonely island wild. 

Until the coming of a later day 

When it should shine in glory undefiled. 

The tearful Nymphs at last have reached the end 

Of this, their pious quest, and from the seas 

With slow and mournful steps their way they wend, 

Amid their many-voiced harmonies. 

The weeping Nereids dig with rosy shells 

A grave upon the peaceful Lesbian strand, 

And where the hallowed mound the surface swells. 

They lay dark cypress boughs with sno\\y hand. 

There in an ilex grove that sacred head 

Ivies buried by the ever-sounding sea: 

Where rhythmic surges round its lowly bed 

Beat out their thunderous diapason free. 

About the grave beneath the sheltering trees 

Immortal amaranths and lilies grow. 

The song of birds and drowsy hum of bees 

48 



Still linger near his face who loved them so. 
And there, among the groves, the nightingale 
Laments in saddest notes of sorrovi^ing: 
And sweeter song, so says the ancient tale, 
Shall never bird to listening mortal sing. 

When mighty Jove the tale of sorrow heard 
Of this sad life by Fate's decree crushed down. 
To deep compassion was his bosom stirred, 
Upon his brow a grave and thoughtful frown. 
Then swiftly that enchanted lyre he grasped 
And set it high within the northern skies. 
There, to the universal bosom clasped, 
It joins creation's spheral harmonies. 
And from the sapphire deeps its golden glow 
Burns downward through earth's dim and misty 

veil 
To our adoring eyes upraised below. 
In witness of the truth of all this tale. 

Divinest bard, on earth there singeth still 
The spirit of the music thou hast given. 
Thy strains the hearts of erring mortals fill 
With purest happiness this side of heaven. 
Through all of thy great suffering and pain. 
Out of the scourgings of adversity, 
Sore punished, thou hast yet this final gain, 
Thy name stands ever for sweet Constancy. 



49 



AVE DIANA 

Fair goddess of our hearts and of the night, 
Shedding afar thy silver glory pure, 
Bathing the heavens in effulgence bright. 
Who else could so attract us and allure? 
Within the radiance of thy cr^^stal beam, 
Where all of witchery and charm abide, 
Our spirits drift as on a summer stream 
Twixt flowery banks down to the ocean wide. 
And out across the silvery ocean vast 
We float, unmindful of the flight of time. 
Lulled by soft lapping waves, until at last 
They bring us to a strange and wondrous clime 
Where all is clear and pure and radiant 
As are thy beams, thou lovely goddess dear, 
Where poesy and music ever haunt 
The flower^^ meads and waters running clear. 
Here in this happy land no sadness dwells. 
Nothing is known of sorrow, naught of fear. 
No vain regret the tortured bosom swells. 
And suffering has never entered here. 
Throughout the land are fountains sweet and clear, 
Deep shaded dells with thickest verdure clad. 
While ever and anon the sportive deer 
Betrays his presence by his antics glad. 
Along the pleasant sylvan paths there lie 
Fair gardens blossoming in the delight 
Of sun and dew, until the charmed eye 
Is weary with excess of colors bright. 
And further on the hills begin to rise, 
Covered with forests to the summit steep. 
Here lurk the Dryads, who with curious eyes 
Peep at us as we pass through shadows deep. 

So pressing on into the ancient wood, 
We come at last into an open glade 
50 



Nestled among the mountains which have stood 
Guarding this woodland vale since time was made. 
Across the level sweeps of cooling lawn 
Flowers run riot, and the pebbly rills 
Murmur their sweetest music, which has gone 
Into our hearts, and every longing stills. 
Midmost within this happy vale serene, 
Surrounded by lithe vines and thorn trees bare, 
Which intertwining, form a living screen. 
Rises a bower more than earthly fair. 
And round about the lovely bower, a band 
Of maiden Nymphs, each one of beauty rare. 
Sing and make merry, dancing hand in hand. 
Their joyous music filling all the air. 

Oh, now indeed, we know where thou hast led 
Our feet, fair goddess of the silver face! 
These be thy Nymphs before whom Actaeon fled, 
Thy comrades in the pleasures of the chase. 
Here ever faithful watch and ward they keep. 
Forever closing in their magic ring 
Round thy Endymion in his deathless sleep ; 
And, watching ever, clear and sweet they sing. 

O goddess of the chase. 
Give us thy presence fair, 
Oh teach us yet to trace 
The wild beast to his lair. 

Ever thy silver bow 
Hath been our strong ally. 
Forsake us then not thou. 
Still for thy help we cry. 

Here in this peaceful vale 
Thy watch and ward we keep 
Over thy lover pale. 
Deep in his dreamful sleep. 
51 



Lead us, O queen of night, 
Rushing across the plain, 
To follow in wild flight 
Thy crescent once again. 

Only to hear thy bow 
Twang as w^e heard of old, 
Thy voice so sweet and low 
Giving its orders bold. 

Only to hear thy horn 
Waking the echoes far — 

At this is heard a note with liquid roll 
So sweet and yearning that it penetrates 
Down to the shivering caverns of the soul, 
Whence echoing, at once it recreates 
And brings to life all those desires intense 
Which from of old have held us in their grasp, 
And throbs and thrills and aches through every 

sense, 
Holding our spirits in its tender clasp ; 
Sobbing and wailing in its wistful sweetness 
Until our very heartstrings give a cry. 
Strained past endurance in their incompleteness. 
Not yet attuned to heaven's harmony. 

And now athwart the blue empyrean. 
Gliding as straight as light, swift as a dove, 
Cometh a vision which may ne'er again 
Be seen by any eyes save those above. 
For radiant in celestial glory, 
Behold, fair Dian, than a fawn more fleet. 
Not chaste and cold as in the olden story, 
But blushing rosy red, divinely sweet. 
For she has come, smit by the pain divine, 
To seek her lover, young Endymion, 
52 



And pour along his veins such fiery wine 
Would wake to life a block of wood or stone. 

But ere she entereth into her bliss 

Each Nymph with gracious kindness she would 

greet, 
Approaching first now that one and now this, 
Blessing the herbage with her tender feet. 
At last into the inmost bower she's gone. 
Which straightway glows with roselight pale and 

clear. 
All sleep has from those heavy eyelids flown. 
Enraptured he beholds his goddess near. 
And now come gently murmured words of love, 
Tender complainings such as lovers use, 
Heart pressed to heart in wildest, throbbings move, 
While lips from nectar'd lips sip sweetest dews. 

Too soon, alas! the winged hours have flown 
And Cynthia must back into the sky. 
Else would all Nature cry and make great moan 
Could she not see her goddess clear and high. 
For dearer to the night that face so pure 
Than to parched crops the gently falling rain, 
So must the loving goddess now immure 
The hapless youth within his dreams again. 
This done, out of that blissful vale she swept. 
Which straightway gloomed, losing her presence 

bright. 
And we who far and far have overstepped 
The bounds of earthly life, led by the light 
Of sweetest Dian, never shall believe 
Those tales that call her the pale chilly moon. 
Such words can never more our minds deceive. 
For we have seen her with Endymion. 



53 



TO A RED SUNSET 

O great Apollo, what beauties follow 

Thy roseate car at dawn! 

But better than those are the gold and rose 

Thou bringest when day is gone. 

When the stars peep out and complete thy rout 

As thou sinkest in the west, 

And thy streamers red, flung far overhead, 

Herald thy coming rest. 

To mortal vision the gates Elysian 

Seem opened for a time. 

And from the towers and airy bowers 

Familiar in legend and rhyme. 

There comes a blessing beyond all guessing 

To those of us who know 

That our mortal eyes see the smile that flies 

From the gods to earth below. 

Still the splendor falls on the eye and enthralls 

Our hearts with the vision bright; 

The glowing hues interweave and suffuse 

The heavens with golden light. 

Till all must adore, and the sun-god implore 

That in some future clime 

Our spirits may float to that region remote, 

And bathe in that flood sublime. 

Now the afterglow and the shadows show 

That the god of day has fled. 

The colors fade into many a shade 

Of purple, saffron and red, 

While the clouds so gay become cold and gray 

As the twilight waxes old. 

And the fires so bright burn dim in our sight. 

And turn to ashes cold. 

54 



In the near-by trees, with never a breeze, 

There comes a rustling deep, 

'Tis the birds o'erhead in their airy bed 

Settling themselves to sleep. 

As the daylight dies and the gem-like eyes 

Of the tw^inkling stars appear. 

The vision departs and leaves in our hearts 

Only a memory dear. 



55 



THE SIRENS 

Out across the sunny reaches 
Of the sparkling sapphire sea, 
There, along the golden beaches, 
Beautiful entrancingly, 

Fairest sea-maidens repeating 
Sunshine's glints in lustrous hair. 
Stretch out lovely arms entreating 
Us to come and join them there. 

Then those pleading accents tremble 
Into harmony divine; 
Sweeter voice may ne'er dissemble 
Love that ever doth repine. 

Still those notes from sweet lips fallinj 
Promise happiness to be. 
Calling, calling, ever calling 
To those isles amid the sea. 



56 



WHEN BACCHUS CAME 

The world was new and all the gods 
Were mad with youth and love, 
And Titans trembled at the nods 
Of heaven-defying Jove. 
Then were the halcyon days of old 
Of which the ancient poets told. 

Then Dryads swarmed in every^ grove. 

Then every crystal pool, 

Whose whispering reeds and rushes wove 

A bower fresh and cool, 

Showed far beneath its mirrored face 

Some shimmering Naiad's dwelling place. 

In meads where nodding flowers move, 

The murmurous bees intone 

The drowsy litany of love, 

More dulcet than their own 

Most fragrant treasure, when it swells 

The waxen semilucent cells. 

The flowering almond's avalanche 

Of blossoms pink and white 

Sends many a downward curving branch 

O'er hidden bowers bright, 

Wherefrom, with innate coquetry, 

Blithe Nymphs set fluttering glances free. 

And round about, the jocund sound 
Of piping and of song 
Comes from each velvet-swarded mound 
Where Nymphs and Satyrs throng. 
While twining arms and twinkling feet, 
And willowy forms make grace complete. 



57 



Far in a vale, where tumbled hills 

Skirt the Boeotian plain, 

The last outlying sentinels 

Of great Parnassus' train, 

Behold, a vision of delight! 

A maid in spring-time jewels dight. 

On dewy rose and violet 

Lies Semele the fair, 

While rosemary and mignonette 

Enwreathe her wondrous hair. 

The first is for remembrance meet, 

The second makes remembrance sweet. 

In alternating white and red, 
Flushing at every sound, 
She waits with joy akin to dread, 
A queen with blushes crowned. 
Well may high Jove enchanted be 
Devotion such as hers to see. 

But hark, a step ! Now fluttering heart 

Lie quiet in thy nest, 

Else must thy throbbing impulse start 

Soft tumult in that breast. 

Whose tender billowings would betray 

The love that sweeps her soul away. 

Nay gentle maid, with downcast eyes 

Fixed on the flowery earth. 

This is not he whose ardent sighs 

Give to thy love new birth. 

The languorous air doth not enfold 

Thy god-like wooer uncontrolled. 

Fair as a dream before her stands 
A being all divine, 

58 



Whose gracious smiles, like silken bands, 
About the heart entwine. 
Thus jealous Hera craftily 
Approaches youthful Semele 

"Bright jewel of the Cadmean race, 

Happy art thou above 

All others, since thy lissome grace 

Hath lured e'en mighty Jove 

To seek thy blissful earthly bower: 

Although compact of god-like power. 

Nay, blush not thus because I know 

Thy secret sweet and dear. 

With friendship true this heart doth glow. 

Disarm thee of thy fear. 

Secure and peaceful mayst thou rest: 

Thy tale is buried in my breast." 

Then with alluring blandishment 

And favoring glances kind. 

She moved to where in wonderment 

The blushing maid reclined, 

And sinking to apparent rest, 

She drew the maiden to her breast. 

And twined the massive coils of hair 
About her soothing hand, 
And murmured tender words and fair 
In accents sweet and bland ; 
Until the doubting maid, at last. 
Her fear to all the winds has cast. 

"But know, O Semele", she said, 
"The keenest joy of all 
As yet hath never visited 
Thy heart. May it befall 
59 



That soon thy wondering eyes shall see 
Thy loved one in his majesty. 

Past mortal thought his grandeur shines 

O'erpanoplied with cloud, 

The lightnings round his arm he twines, 

While bursting thunder loud, 

Like echoes from vast heavenly drums. 

Reverberating downward comes. 

Well do I know thy lover bright: 

His modesty's a jest 

Among the gods. Demand the sight. 

He shall deny thy quest. 

By subtlety shalt thou attain 

To that whereof thy heart were fain. 

Ask thou thy boon: then as he stands 

Before thee, let him swear 

To grant whate'er thy love demands 

Ere thou thy wish declare. 

And bid him swear, his faith to fix. 

By ebon waters of the Styx. 

Now lovely Cadmean, adieu. 

Forget not what I've told 

For thine own good, in friendship true; 

And may thy heart be bold 

To seek that which is thine by right, 

Thy lover at his glory's height." 

Unclasping her enfolding arms, 
She leaves the maid at rest, 
While new desires and vague alarms 
Disturb that peaceful breast. 
Then fades adown the flowery vale 
Like drifting wreath of vapor frail. 
60 



Upon her couch where roses glow 

And daffodillies fine 

Invert their cups, with overflow 

Of all their dewy wine, 

The pensive maiden musing lies, 

With brooding, thought-o'ershadowed eyes. 

Far in the upper realms of light 

A piercing scream is heard: 

In palpitating, headlong flight 

Descends Jove's royal bird. 

Full well the blithesome maiden knew 

This herald from her lover true. 

With pinions set, he sails adown 

The trackless paths of air, 

And at her feet is gently thrown 

A token sweet and fair, 

The flower that first saw light of day 

Where dying Hyacinthus lay. 

Then with a cry of hoarse disdain 
For all save power and might. 
Tremendous throbbing wings again 
Bear him from mortal sight. 
More fierce a messenger may ne'er 
The tender thought of lover bear. 

Full oft she's seen that cruel face 

With golden eyes of doom, 

Those talons from whose fell embrace 

No living thing may come. 

Yet howsoever oft he's sent. 

Chill fear is with her raptures blent. 

Now stooping where the flower lies, 
Within the blissful nest 

6i 



Of her soft bosom's fall and rise 
She cradles it to rest; 
And with its balmy breath inspires 
Renewal of her love-lit fires. 

While thus in musings sweet she stood, 

Her ej^es with love aflame, 

From out a grove of ilex wood 

Her royal lover came. 

With outstretched arms and flying feet 

He speeds the blushing maid to meet. 

The first ecstatic greeting done. 

With beaming eyes she said, 

"My lord of love, I crave a boon, 

Wilt grant it to thy maid?" 

"Tis thine before the thought," said he, 

"What gift shall I not bring to thee?" 

"Nay, not so fast, my lover bold. 

Deem of thy maid no ill. 

But first, before my will I've told, 

My longing to fulfil, 

I pray thee swear to grant me this 

By what to thee most sacred is." 

Then o'er his smiling face a shade 
Of doubt and anger came: 
As when a cloud o'er sunny glade 
Makes dim the roses' flame; 
But as the sun shines out again. 
His smiles returned and he began. 

"By that dread stream of nether hell 
Whose sable waters run 
Past gloomy fields of asphodel 
In twilight shadows dun, 
62 



I swear to do thy very will: 
Thine utmost longing to fulfil. 

Now little disbeliever, art 

Thou not content that I 

Have done my meek subservient part, 

Who else am stern and high. 

And yield not lightly to command? 

See, here thy servant now I stand." 

With eyes whose languorous content 

Promise a full reward. 

In utter self-abandonment 

She flees to him, her lord. 

Be sure his eager lips shall meet 

Her dewy lips all cool and sweet. 

"Fair Semele, now say thy say, 

Behold thy servant stands 

In burning ardor to obey 

His dearest love's commands. 

What is it thou wouldst have me bring? 

'Tis thine ere swiftest bird might wing 

His way across the little space 
Between my heart and thine. 
What is there of my utmost grace 
That should not equal shine 
On thee within thy flowery nest, 
And me, who am thy lover blest?" 

"O lord of love, thy task is light; 

Thou needest not to bring 

Thy sandaled messenger, whose flight 

Outruns the tempest's wing. 

As Jove the thunder-bearer, I 

Would see thee pass in majesty." 

63 



Then for a time amazed he stood, 
While in his visage drear 
Surprise and consternation showed 
Her danger great and near. 
Her innocence and ignorance 
Have put him in this sudden trance. 

"Light of my eyes, thou knowest not 

The task thou'st set for me. 

Celestial laws bind me about, 

In this I am not free. 

No living mortal e'er may view 

That sight, but bids the world adieu. 

But since I've sworn that fatal oath 

Naught can absolve me now 

From strict obedience, how loath 

Soe'er to scorch thy brow. 

So pray thee grant me heart of grace. 

And take some other wish in place." 

"But nay, but nay, my lover high. 

So great a god as thou 

Must know some secret means whereby 

Mayst ward the fatal blow. 

And let me see thee stern and grand, 

And yet remain within thy land." 

"Rash maid, thou wringst my heart with fear; 

Oh change this foolish whim. 

I'll show thee where the elfins leer. 

I'll guide thee through the dim 

Vast spaces of the realms below, 

Where even celestials may not go. 

Within their gloomy caves thou'lt see 
The monstrous fiends of hell. 

64 



I'll wander hand in hand with thee 
Through fields of asphodel. 
We'll see the fair, sad queen of pain, 
Rapt from the flowers on Enna's plain. 

I'll lead thee o'er the ocean's foam. 
And through the western seas 
Where lies the happy island home 
Of the Hesperides. 
Within their wondrous gardens grew 
The golden apple Eris threw. 

Then, winging northward, we shall see 

Where wintry whirlwinds blow, 

And fill the drear immensity 

With drifting worlds of snow; 

In lambent flushes o'er the skies 

The pulsating aurora flies. 

Here broods the everlasting night. 

Here Zephyr never brings 

His flowery season of delight. 

Here never song-bird sings, 

But shivering in the frozen air. 

In ambush lurks the monstrous bear. 

Along the wind-swept icy shore, 

Where all things else congeal, 

Is heard the far off barking roar 

Of walrus and of seal: 

While on the deep, leviathan 

Heaves his huge bulk through summers wan. 

We two will go where Saturn's rings 
Whirl round his heart of flame. 
And where the blazing comet flings 
Through space beyond a name: 

65 



And where Polaris swings In air 
His playmates of the little Bear. 

Where shooting stars like torches glow, 

And Dog-star fell doth shine: 

Where baleful planets earthward throw 

Their influence malign, 

And star-dust swarms like fiery bees 

Among the maiden Pleiades. 

We'll go where fire, erupted, runs 
From burning star to star; 
Where gyrating and seething suns 
Throw molten worlds afar; 
Where fierce Arcturus leads the van, 
And mocks at slow Aldebaran. 

But terror reigns not here alone, 

For Lyra's throbbing strong 

Gives out a grand sweet undertone 

Amid a heaven of song; 

And thus shall strike thy ravished ears 

The music of the heavenly spheres. 

Then plunging through the ocean's swell, 

Beneath the solid land, 

We'll see the sapphire caves where dwell 

The lovely Nereid band, 

And dolphins undulating through 

The twilight floods of deepest blue. 

Though storms above our path may rage, 
We'll wander, you and I 
Through groves of wondrous foliage 
Unwonted to the eye; 
While brilliant sea-born creatures swim 
Along the fronded vistas dim. 
66 



We'll seek the swells where Tritons blow 

Their hollow far-heard horns 

In gentle cadence, soft and low, 

On sunny summer morns; 

And see Poseidon sweep along 

Behind sea-horses fierce and strong. 

Men shall be swept to war for thee. 

Shalt hear their stirring cries 

In battle both on land and sea; 

And deeds of high emprise 

Shall make thy fame more fresh and green 

Than Helena's, the Argive queen. 

Wealth shall be thine beyond desire, 
And gems of every hue. 
The diamond with its eye of fire 
Is thine, and sapphire blue. 
Resplendent then thy form shall shine 
As Iris with her bow divine. 

And when thy days on earth are o'er 

Thy gentle sprite I'll bring 

To that far happy western shore 

Where reigns eternal spring, 

And brightest sunshine ever smiles 

Above the blest Elysian isles. 

And thou shalt ever hold my love, 

For thee this bosom glows. 

The maid beneath the shield of Jove 

Is safe from fortune's blows. 

O maiden mine, my heart is sore; 

Give me my happiness once more!" 

He ceased, and sombre eyes of dread 
Plead strongly for recall 

67 



Of that rash wish by which the maid 
Held him within her thrall. 
But yet she deemed that he might still 
In harmless wise her wish fulfil. 

"And art thou he, my lover fond? 

Thou makst a jest of love. 

Can there be aught that lies beyond 

The power of might Jove? 

Shall I, thy handmaid, never see 

Thine all-compelling majesty?" 

"Though puissant in things that deal 

With nature, laws obtain 

Which bind the gods in gyves of steel. 

We have encountered twain. 

An oath sw^orn by that ebon flood 

Must be fulfilled by every god. 

Stern Fate another law has made. 

That mortal sure must die 

Who sees me passing, when arrayed 

In thunder's panoply. 

By all the love I bear thee now, 

Absolve me from that foolish vow." 

But still the words that Hera spoke 

Were ringing in her ear: 

And still she deemed he would revoke 

His stern decision clear 

Could she but make him understand 

How his resistence only fanned 

The flame of her desire to see 
That sight, come good or ill ; 
And spite of her mortality, 
To bend him to her will. 

68 



So hardens now her heart again, 

And makes his dearest pleadings vain. 

"Dear lover mine, this breast abounds 

In full affection free. 

And every heartbeat only sounds 

A throbbing call for thee; 

But this desire scorns all control, 

'Tis longing of my inmost soul." 

"Fair maid, thou dost not heed my words. 

I tell thee I am bound. 

Like keenest double-edged swords 

Thine accents pierce and wound 

A heart made languorous by love 

For thee, whom prayers will never move. 

Lo, here I make my last appeal. 

Helpless indeed am I. 

If in thy bosom thou dost feel 

The love thine acts deny, 

Yea, by the love thou bearest me. 

Oh, set me from this promise free." 

But Hera's subtle words had brought 

Their deadly mischief now. 

With eyes cast down as if in thought, 

Serene and placid brow, 

"Fair lord, thou knowest my desire, 

Its due fulfilment I require." 

Then o'er his face displeasure's veil 
Came like a funeral pall. 
"Thou stubborn maid, will naught avail? 
On thee the bolt must fall. 
But sad and lone this heart will be, 
O foolish, lovely Semele." 
69 



With look foreshadowing her doom, 

He turns his face away 

From that fair wilful maiden whom 

The gods perverse still sway. 

Then as a meteor in the night 

Is quenched, he vanishes from sight. 

Alarm hath seized the trembling maid 

At his abrupt farewell 

Who erst his partings long delayed, 

In burning words to tell 

How her mere presence filled his soul 

With ecstasy beyond control. 

Then mindful of his parting words 

And ominous despair. 

Her fears, like trenchant flaming swords, 

Pierce through that bosom fair. 

With timid apprehensive eye 

She scans the clear translucent sky. 

Then casts a timorous look around 

Upon the wide expanse. 

But naught in that fair scene is found 

Her terrors to enhance. 

O'er all the smiling grassy vale 

Deep peace and quietude prevail. 

With mounting courage she returns 

Into the flowery maze 

Where every flaming blossom burns 

Sweet incense in her praise, 

And tuneful birds the branches throng 

To charm her with their matin song. 

Enshrined like pearl in rosy shell. 
To tender visions given 

70 



Of him to whom her bosom's swell 
Brings rapture beyond heaven, 
She still believes his ardent fire 
Will grant her inmost heart's desire. 

Within a near-by grove she sees 

A wreath of vapor rise; 

It wavers in the gentle breeze 

Soft as a maiden's sighs, 

As frail and wraith-like doth it seem 

As fabric of a fleeting dream. 

Again are heard those raucous cries, 
And through the crystal heaven 
That herald fierce his passage plies, 
On stormy pinions driven. 
Wild joy within her bosom swells. 
Jove's swift arrival he foretells. 

Her lover's custom had been such 
That on each happy day, 
Forerunner of his near approach, 
Some token bright and gay 
Was dropped before her snowy feet, 
Twin lilies meshed in grasses sweet. 

But, stooping from the heavens down, 

Still nearer and more near. 

On that fair head he drops a crown 

Of cypress branches drear. 

Alarmed, bewildered now, the maid 

Sinks to the earth all sore dismayed. 

Then as her wandering glances range 
From place to place, she sees 
A strange and mystifying change 
Among the shivering trees. 
71 



The tiny wisp of vapor blue 

Has spread and shows a darker hue. 

With eyes as of a frightened child 

She sees it growing still, 

And now it turns and writhes, as wild 

As thunder-clouds that fill 

The wide horizon with the storm 

On summer evenings close and warm. 

But see! that threatening form dilates. 

More broad it seems, and higher. 

Its dusky surface scintillates 

With tiny sparks of fire; 

Like summer marshes seen o' nights 

Twinkling with myriad fire-fly lights. 

And now there comes a heavy moan 

Like thunder's rumbling jar, 

And rushing sounds that speak alone 

Of tempests heard afar. 

Some force resistless writhes and rends 

Within that cloud, and death portends. 

In terror wild the maiden turns. 

But scarce three steps away 

When through the ebon cloud there burns 

A blue and crackling ray. 

Alas, alas, for Semele! 

She's seen Jove's awful majesty. 

Then with a blinding glare, and wail 
Of wind, the tempest leaps 
O'er all the place. Across the vale 
The swirling blackness sweeps. 
And lurid flames in wrath devour 
The hapless maiden's secret bower. 
72 



Never on any land that lies 
Beneath the shining sun, 
Or any sea whose waters rise 
To greet the alluring moon, 
Shall wistful mortal vision see 
The martyred maiden, Semele. 



Sweet winds came rushing down the vale 
And swept the clouds away. 
Revealing Jove distraught and pale, 
With features drawn and gray; 
For Sorrow deep within his heart 
Had planted her corroding dart. 

With fathomless sad eyes of ruth 
For her thus blindly driven 
By innocence and wilful youth 
Athwart the laws of heaven. 
He gazed around as if to find 
Some token memory-enshrined. 

Upon the blackened fire-scarred ground 

A lovely infant shows 

His death-still form, which that discrowned 

And slaughtered mother's throes 

Had left to mighty Jove to prove 

How ardent was her tender love. 

Then through his heart swept such a pang 
As only gods can feel. 
Again within his senses rang 
Her piteous appeal. 
Since then all bards commandeth he 
To sing her immortality. 
73 



Then swiftly to the Infant goes 

And breathes celestial breath 

Into his lips, and overthrows 

The greedy pallid Death. 

The Infant moves and gasps and smiles, 

And soon his father's heart beguiles. 

Now Jove calls Hermes to his side, 

And bids nor rest nor stay 

Till he In Nysa's valleys wide 

The smiling child might lay; 

And bid the Nymphs and Naiads there 

Give him their loving watchful care. 

Thus through pale death and terrors grim, 

And anguished throes of fear, 

The Infant came Into the dim 

Sad world about us here. 

The son of Jove, a god was he. 

But mortal-framed like Semele. 

Of all the names about the earth 
By Fame's clear trumpet blown, 
Of mortal or of heavenly birth, 
Is none more widely known. 
Even to the farthest western sea. 
Than BACCHUS, son of Semele. 



74 



RE VERY 

When earth lies dead beneath the wintry sky, 

And sparkling stars gleam icily on high, 

And alabaster paths, bediamonded. 

Shriek loudly 'neath the passer's hurrying tread, 

And restless horses breathe twin jets of steam 

That turn to silver in the moon's cold beam. 

And frozen stillness, with her pinions furled. 

Broods o'er the silent gem-encrusted world, 

I sit within the glowing ingle nook 

With pipe and some beloved poet's book: 

And as the gray wood blossoms into flame, 

My mind turns backward, and old pictures frame 

Themselves anew before my dreamy eyes. 

Again I see New England hillsides rise. 

Before me slopes the lichened granite ledge 

With huckleberries all about the edge: 

And shyly peering from their leafy screen. 

The scarlet globes of shining wintergreen. 

Again my eager nostrils can discern 

The spicy fragrance of the rare sweet fern. 

With quick contraction of the heart I feel 

The clasp of tiny fingers, which would steal 

Into my own, and sweet adoring eyes 

Upraised to mine, with childhood's wisdom wise. 

And sunny curls, ah, gentle little maid! 

With whom through all my childish hours I played. 

The winter's snow and summer's blossoms spread 

Their amaranthine white and gold and red 

Above thy quiet bosom, buried deep 

These many years, in the long dreamless sleep. 

Beyond our knowledge is the reason why 
This one is spared, while that one's stricken cry 
Peals to the shivering stars. The power above 
(Whose very name and nature must be love,) 
75 



Which moulds our plastic being day by day, 
As hand of potter moulds the facile clay, 
Like that same potter treats the fragile ware. 
This lovely vase, of graceful form and fair, 
Is dashed as soon as made. That other one, 
(No fairer to our seeing,) has begun 
A life of wide-spread usefulness, and high 
Sweet service to mankind, but why, oh why? 

Far in the shadowy woodlands we explored. 

And found the canny squirrel's wintry hoard. 

And eagerly we seized the sudden prize 

Of nuts, and rushed away with joyful cries. 

But suddenly the maiden sees the pain 

And sorrow of the squirrel, who in vain 

Has labored weary hours 'gainst winter's need. 

Then with eyes dropping purest pearls, she'd plead 

Against my rougher boyish mood, till I 

Felt sorry too, and forthwith back we'd hie. 

Retracing all our steps through meadows sweet 

With thyme and marjoram about our feet; 

And when we reached the winding shady lane. 

The squirrel's granary was filled again. 

Or else about the old farmhouse we'd play, 
And watch the tall and slender well-sweep sway 
In summer vdnds, and rattle in the gale. 
And when some elder came with empty pail, 
'Twould make a stately bow, precise and prim, 
Down even to the well-curb's echoing brim. 
Never were we too busy at our play 
To take refreshment from the bucket gray. 
Ah, well I mind the long delicious sips 
Of sparkling water from its velvet lips. 

Anon we'd seek the ancient cider mill, 
Where in its darkling shadows lingered still 

76 



Grim dragons, high above or underneath, 

So that we crept about with bated breath. 

But when the autumn came, in his slow round 

The patient horse the odorous apples ground. 

Then she and I with tiny cup in hand 

Sought out the wooden spout whence flowed the 

bland 
Sweet life-blood of the fruit. With vessels filled, 
We'd creep to where, with cautious fingers skilled. 
We found sweet home-made cakes of rapturous 

smell. 
In the deep earthen jar we knew so well. 
Then underneath the ever-whispering trees, 
Surrounded by the golden-banded bees. 
What wild and joyous banqueting was ours 
Among the shade and sunshine and the flowers! 

Now to the child-alluring pond we've flown. 

Where all the marshy borders are bestrewn 

With velvet cat-tails, and the iris blue 

In fascinating clumps of color grew. 

Here sweet winds waft our laden ships to sea, 

Seeking great store of gold and ivory 

In far, dim-visioned, glorious foreign lands. 

And isles of spice begirt with coral strands: 

Till from the grasp of Fancy's visions deep, 

We're startled by the frog's portentous leap. 

Far down the sunny field, along the wall 

Where whistling thrush and strident cat-bird call. 

We watch with curious eyes the antics queer 

Of a small family of woodchucks near: 

Till some quick motion frights them to their lair, 

When presto! all we see is empty air. 

Alas! like marmots in their vanishing, 
My childhood's dreams unto themselves take wing. 
For now the fire is burning low at last, 
77 



And all my memories of the golden past, 
Fade with the fading flames, and die away 
Along with them into cold ashes gray. 

Sweet, tiny maiden, in thy narrow bed 
Beneath the beechen boughs, and garlanded 
With trailing vines, and flowers of every hue. 
Kept bright and fresh by heaven's impearling dew, 
I know not if that power which rules us all 
Were not more kind to thee. The stony wall 
Of custom hems us in on every side; 
Surrounded, we, by lying pompous pride, 
And grief and sorrow and temptation sore, 
And sin and pain and death forevermore. 
Whether this life or thine own peaceful rest, 
I know not, oh, I know not, which is best. 



78 



YELLOWSTONE CANYON 

Not in the blue Ionian isles 
Nor Arthur's island home, 
Nor on that bay where Capri smiles 
Beneath Vesuvius' dome, 

Doth such a dream of beauty burst 
On the astonished eye 
As in this wondrous chasm, lost 
From paradise on high. 

Well may the troubled soul adore 
And worship at its shrine, 
Where beauty and majestic power 
Of grandeur intertwine. 

Abysses smitten deep below 
Glow with such hues as vie 
With Iris' myriad colored bow 
Arching across the sky. 

Gulf beneath gulf, the golden walls 
Yawn pitiless and clear, 
Till on the dizzy brain there falls 
A solemn awe and fear. 

Far down within the lowest deep 

A tiny thread of green 

Marks where the battling torrents sweep 

These glowing walls between. 

Yonder across the chasm bright, 
A filmy, lacy veil 

Drifting in dazzling gleaming white, 
Seems swayed by every gale. 

And high above, a silver mist 
79 



Where glistening droplets shine, 
By magic rays of sunlight kissed 
To coloring divine. 

O fairy fall, behind thy veil 
Of silver, there lies furled 
A power to make the spirit quail, 
Strength to disrupt a w^orld. 

Adovrn thy shelving roof on high 
Arrow^y currents gleam; 
Sv^^ift as the meteor through the sky 
They seek the rocky brim, 

And vrith a royal plunge they soar 
Dovi^n to the shuddering deeps 
Where blinding chaos evermore 
His boisterous revel keeps. 

Relentless as the gates of death. 
And pitiless as hell, 
Woe to the man w^ho feels thy breath 
Or rides upon thy swell ! 

For him this life is but a span 
Briefer than beat of wing 
With which thy screaming eagles fan 
The spray thou dost upfling. 

O canyon beautiful, there rests 
Within my memory still 
The vision of thy sunlit crests. 
Thine emerald waters chill. 

And over all, the tenderness 
Of summer's golden haze, 
While every slope the eye doth bless 
With color's lovely maze. 
80 



Ruby and pearl and amethyst, 
And sapphire, and the sheen 
Of ruddy gold, no tint is missed 
In all the world, I ween. 

Never on any sea or shore, 
Whatever light may shine, 
Or sunlight or when, arching o'er, 
The moon and stars combine. 

Shall any scene the earth doth hold 
Smite so enchantingly 
As that when first I saw thy bold 
Bewildering harmony. 

Softer than glance of maiden's eyes 
Thy loveliness doth seem. 
Enshrined in memory it lies, 
Fair as youth's wistful dream. 



INDIAN SUMMER 

O'er all the earth a golden mist 
By Autumn's hand is hung. 
From every tree her lips have kissed 
Abroad her banner's flung. 

And yonder, in among the gold, 
A scarlet flame I see. 
Where that young maple doth unfold 
His dying heart to me. 

Along the forest's edge embanked, 
In keenest rivalry. 

The sumac's serried hosts are prankt 
In gorgeous livery. 

And over all the riot bold 
Of fitful color's blaze, 
The sun, with level rays of gold 
Pours amethystine haze. 

As the w^ild svv^an's lone melody 
Floats up when death is nigh, 
Nature her color symphony 
Unfolds ere summer die. 

Like fleeting pleasure's lovely face 
Summer must surely be. 
Showing her most alluring grace 
Just as she turns to flee. 



82 



LINES WRITTEN AT INDIAN MOUND 
PARK 

Far in the dim unstoried past, 
Of which no legend tells, 
These tumuli, with labors vast, 
Were reared o'er cryptic cells. 

Upon this bold projecting crest, 
Where all the breezes fanned 
The grasses growing o'er their rest. 
Repose that mystic band. 

Here the long quiet dreamless sleep, 
Whose waking troubles still 
The human heart, with questions deep. 
Brought balm for every ill. 

The old and wise, the young and fair, 
Were gathered here at last. 
And found relief from earthly care. 
In that long distant past. 

And who of us shall say tonight 
What longings strange and dim, 
What wistful yearnings toward the light. 
Midst terrors vague and grim. 

Led them to this enchanted spot 
Where, haply, their sad eyes 
Amid the sunset's glories caught 
A hint of paradise? 

Wide spreading underneath them sweep, 
Fair as sweet Fancy's dream, 
Forests and vales and valleys, deep 
Embowered along the stream — 

83 



The mystic stream that takes its rise 
Far within northern lands, 
And ends where summer never dies, 
Along palm-shaded strands. 

Sweet be their sleep! Unknown to them 
Grim failure's withering blight; 
The dull and sordid cares that hem 
The spirit's upward flight. 

Sweet be their sleep! As wild and free 
As soaring skylark's song, 
Dismayed their simple souls would be 
Among our modem throng. 

Sweet be their sleep! 'Neath sun and dew, 
In wind and starlight chill, 
They dream the long bright summers through 
Upon their sacred hill. 



84 



YULE-TIDE 

The King of Yule he strides abroad 
With voice as blithe and gay 
As when he ruled the festal board 
In bluff King Harry's day. 

A hale old soul is our King Yule, 
For countless ages he 
Has spread his kindly hearty rule 
Over all lands that be. 

His mighty feasts in days of old 
Were shared by mighty men, 
But round his board true hearts of gold 
Still gather now as then. 

What though the days of stricken field 
And deeds at arms are gone? 
What though with sword and spear and shield 
No battle now is won? 

Stout hearts must bear the brunt of blows 
Keener than sword or spear; 
Undaunted souls face sterner foes 
Than mail-clad cavalier. 

The times are changed, but still the flower 
Of knighthood burgeons free. 
And he is blessed who has the dower 
Of truth and bravery. 

So, like our sires of old, may we 
With joyous hearts and kind, 
Engage in love and amity 
Where yule-tide wreaths are twined. 

May every soul in Christendom 
Be gladdened by the ray 
Of Bethlehem's bright star that shone 
On Christ his own birth-day. 

85 



TO MARGUERITE 

(On the occasion of her debut) 

Oft in the sunset's golden light 

My wandering spirit strays 

Through smiling gardens' pathways, bright 

With all their flowery blaze. 

And straying mid the blossomings 
With dream-enchanted eyes, 
I muse on all heart-easing things 
The flowers symbolize. 

The rose's fragrant bosom glows 

With love's unquenched desire, 

While through the lily's veins there flows 

A spiritual fire. 

To the forget-me-not is given 
Remembrance of the past. 
The violet's eyes are blue as heaven, 
Sweet to the very last. 



The hyacinth's the child of woes; 
Narcissus is self-love. 
The cloying sweets of tuberose 
To drowsy languor move. 

The orchid is a stately dame 
Of arrogance supreme. 
The poppy, with her scarlet flame, 
Brings many a lovely dream. 

Carnation's beauty is complete; 
The pansy's thoughtful still. 
86 



Who loves not in his heart the sweet, 
Downglancing daffodil? 

But still I know not what fair flower 
Shall typify to me 

Bright friendship's fascinating power 
Through all the time to be. 

In vain I search my garden gay, 
When, lo! here at my feet, 
Just budding out this very day, 
Behold, the ''Marguerite"! 



87 



ALONGSHORE 

Ho' for the rough waves dashing! 
Ho for my island home, 
Where racing breakers threshing, 
Leave wakes of beaded foam! 

Where in the wild March weather 
Spindrift and foam together 
Tap at the window pane. 
Unheeding rein or tether 
These birds of wildest feather 
Seek entrance here in vain. 

Brightly the high sun shineth 
Over a flowing sea. 
No mortal e'er divineth 
How great its glories be! 
Silver and gold and azure 
Mixed in no earthly measure 
Give hint of mystic treasure 
Where Nereids dance in glee. 

But when the sun is sunken 
Below the watery rim, 
And all its light is shrunken 
To silver gleamings dim, 
Cruel and ruthless is the sea 
As veiled destiny. 

Now creeping o'er the ocean 
In slow unhurried motion, 
Comes the mist demon's frown. 
With wrack of clouds low-lying, 
Wind-twisted vapors flying, 
And far-heard sea birds crying, 
The lonely night comes down. 
88 



Still, though unseen, the surges 
Beat at the rock that scourges 
And drives them to the main; 
While winds wail round the gables 
As did, in ancient fables, 
Unshriven souls in pain. 

But wind and wave and weather 
All merge their sounds together 
Into a song of rest. 
And sleep, the blissful maiden. 
Gathers the sorrow-laden 
Soul to her quiet breast. 



89 



SPRING SONG 

My soul is swung 
Like sweet bells rung 
In mellow limpid peals, 
This springtime day 
When blithe and gay 
The earth in transport reels. 

The grasses peep 

From slumber deep, 

And smile to meet the sun: 

The new buds swell 

In wood and dell. 

And blossoms every one. 

The young woods show 

A tender glow 

Of delicatest green; 

While through and through, 

On branch and bough 

The sunlight pours between. 

And from the earth, — 

A kindling birth, — 

The dainty dwellers spring 

Who fill our cup 

With pleasure up 

In life's new blossoming. 

Now over all 
The seneschal 

Of spring's awakening days, 
The gentle rain. 
Brings in its train 
Sweet Flora's lovely maze, 
90 



The harebell blue, 

The tender hue 

On fern and mandrake set, 

Anemone, — 

But chiefly thee, 

springtime violet! 

From tree to tree 

Their ecstacy 

The trilling chorus pour. 

And swell their throats 

With dulcet notes 

Of rapture o'er and o'er. 

Along the shore 

Where evermore 

The willows bend and sway, 

Each velvet bud 

Stirs in the blood 

A springtime roundelay. 

The shoreward crew 

Whose shrill ado 

Is heard both near and far, 

Redouble all 

Their piping call 

Beneath the evening star. 

And when the gleam 
Of Dian's beam 
Comes like a spirit's kiss. 
My senses reel, 

1 seem to feel 

The Latmian shepherd's bliss. 



91 



A POET'S HEART 

Within a vale of storied Argolis, 

Where lost Mycenae stood 

In other age, but now in this 

Grown to a tangled wood, 

A poet strayed through leafy nave and aisle, 

And thought on life's vicissitudes the while. 

Over the solemn hush and solitude 

The year's fresh-opening hand 

Had led the shining multitude 

Of flowers, while many a band 

Of joyous birds were carolling away 

In blithesome jargoning the happy day. 

In one fair glade young spring in glee had set 

Her daintiest darlings down — 

Anenome and violet 

And daflEodils, to crown 

A slope where slender harebells' trembling fears 

Made mournful music for the fairies' ears. 

Hither the poet came. In his wide eyes 

Surprised delight doth shine. 

More lovely than his far surmise 

Is Flora's secret shrine. 

So lies him down among the blossoms gay 

To watch the feathered choir make holiday. 

The interchanging play of light and shade, 
The gently whispering breeze. 
The slumbrous, booming anthem, made 
By legioned restless bees. 

All lured him down the pathway smooth and steep 
Into the quiet realms of grateful sleep. 
92 



In frolic mood a band of wandering fays, 

Chance-led along the dale, 

Came gliding down the golden rays 

That pierced the leafy veil. 

They spied the poet in his grassy nest, 

Where tranced he lay, enwrapped in visions blest. 

With shrieks of sprightly joy and merriment 
Unheard of human ears. 
The swarming brood, on mischief bent, 
With laughing gibes and jeers. 
Invade his person lying hid from view. 
And search and probe his being through and 
through. 

With immaterial fingers swift and bold 

They grope within his breast, 

And drag to light with glee untold 

His bosom's gentle guest, 

Filled to the brim with grief for human smart. 

That tender, mystic thing, the poet's heart. 

Forthwith the boisterous rout by ruddy shame 

Were hushed to musings mild. 

For hovering round about them came 

Full many a lovely child 

Of Fancy, from the violated shrine 

Thus rudely entered without warning sign. 

Dream faces, startled fancies deep. 

Their shrinking forms display. 

And shy and gentle thoughts that creep 

Back from the garish day. 

Scared by the hate and scorn to all things shown 

That dare to live for beauty's sake alone. 



93 



The thirst that drives the poet his life long 

To drink at beauty's well; 

The ear that hears the spirit song 

That never tongue may tell; 

The prophet eye, that sees the dawning light 

Expunge the errors of the spirit's night. 

The spirit pitiful that sees the blind 

Mad welter in the gloom, 

That cries a warning to mankind, 

And shares Cassandra's doom. 

Whose eyes compassionate, since time began, 

Mourn the sad edict set on mortal man. 

The spirit militant, that holds the truth 

Dearer than life or love; 

Whom neither hate nor serpent-tooth 

Of calumny may move; 

But steadfast still, whatever fate may send 

Unterrified dies fighting to the end. 

And many more of gentle words and deeds, 

Unnumbered as the sands, 

The fays might see, and each one pleads 

With mutely folded hands 

That they might be restored to that dear breast 

Where neither hate nor fear nor scorn infest. 

Ashamed, discomfited, the fairy band, 

Each seeking to atone 

For what his desecrating hand 

Had wrought against the lone 

And unprotected mortal lying there. 

Strove eagerly their mischief to repair. 

And one brought heartsease for his spirit's balm, 
Another bringeth rue 
And poppies red, whose essence calm 
Doth peaceful sleep renew. 
94 



One doth anoint his head most daintily 
With oil distilled from gums of Araby; 

Whose virtue was, thereafter he might hear 

The swaying bluebell ring; 

The plaintive words that through the year 

The nightingale doth sing; 

And know the meaning deep of every sound 

Of bird or beast, above or underground. 

Another whispers in his sleeping ears 

Old tales from fairy lore, 

The hopes and fears, the smiles and tears 

Of lovers long of yore: 

And bids the poet as he farther strays 

To sing these songs of long forgotten days. 

When every fairy wight had done his share, 

These spirits wild and free, 

Impalpable as crystal air, 

Fled where no man may see, 

And left the poet there — the legend tells — 

To be awakened by the floral bells. 



95 



AFTER A LATE SNOW STORM 

My heart is saddened by the voiceless crying 
Where prone along the ground 
The stricken forms of early flowers are lying 
In icy fetters bound. 

O Springtime, else so tender and so loving, 
Why should thy changeful breath, 
A blight across the vernal landscape moving. 
Do these, thy babes, to death? 

Demeter, whither were thy footsteps wending? 
Heard'st not thy children's crj^ 
When winter's squadrons, in a host unending, 
Swept from the northern sky? 

Alone and helpless now the flowers are falling, 
Smit by the fatal blast; 

The spirit of the snow about them her appalling 
And chill embrace has cast. 

Alas! within the alabaster masses 

We see each pallid face. 

The while its dying fragrance sweetly passes, 

Like prayer for final grace. 

The earth, so prodigal, will bring fresh flowers 

To ease us of our pain ; 

In sunny meadows and in lonely bowers 

The buds will swell again. 

But to our saddened memory is clinging 
Thought of those faces wan. 
And sore regret our inmost heart is wringing 
For bloom untimely gone. 

96 



IN THE TRACK OF A FOREST FIRE 

Upon the bleak and drifting shore 

The low wind-tortured trees, 

Mishandled by the storms of yore, 

With gnarled and bulbous knees, 

Grotesque, fantastic, sprawl along the sand, 

(Withered and sere 

In the sunlight here,) 

Distorted, goblin keepers of a lonely barren strand. 

Against a background desolate 
The dreary picture lies. 
Where sylvan hosts bewail their fate, 
Upraising to the skies 

Gaunt blackened arms that tell their sudden doom. 
(A holocaust 
By the demons tossed 

To sweep them all together to their crackling fiery 
tomb. ) 

Yet here, among these naked spires, 
Where death his wrath doth wield. 
Sweet Nature's force that never tires 
Has decked the stricken field 
With tangled labyrinth of bush and vine, 
(Bramble and brier 
Those sons of the fire). 

With eglantine and maiden hair and brake and 
columbine. 

The high sun strikes out tender greens 

Along a gentle hill 

Sloping where purple iris leans 

Above a hidden rill 

That chuckles ceaselessly as on we pass, 

(With joyous note 

97 



In its reedy throat), 

And laughs in bubbling music as it ripples through 
the grass. 

Blithe spring has sown both far and wide 
Her gems with lavish hand, 
Beneath the rustling herbage hide 
A shy and fragrant band 
Of pink arbutus denizens, replete 
(Through all the years 
Our dearest dears), 

With memories of joys that fled on pinions wild and 
fleet. 

Yon swelling, golden, mossy knoll 
Thick dappled o'er with red 
Had been my dearest childish goal 
In years that long are dead: 
For there the prim and dapper wintergreen, 
(Filling the air 
With a perfume rare), 

Like dainty woodland belle arrayed In scarlet beads 
is seen. 

And love dwells here. Among the bloom 
Where upstart aspens dance, 
Gay fawns, with eyes of liquid gloom, 
In youthful rapture prance, 
While In some shadowy nook the yearning doe, 
(O fawns, 'tis well 
She's the sentinel!). 

Alert and watchful, standing guard, protects from 
every foe. 

A little soundless fluttering 
Within the fallen wood 
Reveals the pheasant hovering 
Her leaf-brown, fluffy brood. 

98 



They peer about, these mites of recent birth, 
(But at a sound 
Not a chick is found.) 

At all the strange unwonted things in this new- 
entered earth. 

Thus love and life and beauty come 
Where desolation grim 
Uprears her banner. They who roam 
With eyes not blind and dim 
By reason of the selfish tears that flow, 
(Alas how few 
Have the vision true!) 

May see the hidden benison behind the clouds of 
woe. 



99 



MY STAR 

The night wind whispers its story, — 
My shallop seems to go 
In paths of astral glor}^ 
Reduplicate below. 

The sense of the great world resting 

Comes like a slumber-song 

To my wear}' soul, attesting 

How sweet is the night and strong. 

Sweet to assuage our losses. 
Strong to relieve our pain; 
Sweet to make light our crosses, 
Strong to revive again. 

In the shallop idly drifting 
Over the dim lake's breast, 
My spirit's voice uplifting 
Gives a desolate cn^ for rest. 

When, lo! from the stellar spaces 
Cometh a star-crowned wraith. 
She hovers about me, and places 
Her hands on my brow, and saith, 

"O mortal compounded of spirit 
Imprisoned in vestments of clay, 
Remember 'tis thine to inherit 
A part of the infinite day. 

In the struggle unending that rages 
Twixt man and angel in thee, 
Forget not the terrible wages 
Of weaklings who falter and flee. 

lOO 



Thy spirit thou shalt strengthen 
By conquest of sorrow and fear, 
As the days of labor lengthen, 
And the time of reaping draws near. 

And when the final evangel 
Shall visit thy mortal frame, 
Releasing thy sin-vexed angel. 
It shall rise like a living flame. 

And soar to the empyrean 
A part of the light divine. 
Loud, loud shall be then thy paean. 
O mortal, what visions are thine!" 

Then bending above me lowly, 
Sweet as the hope of heaven. 
Three kisses pure and holy 
Unto my lips were given. 

The first hath brought life's sweetness- 
It came like a rushing song: 
The second in its completeness 
Hath heartened and made me strong. 

But or ever the tale be given 
By my lips of the last of the three, 
May my dastard heart be riven 
And my soul in jeopardy: 

For across the abysmal distance 
On some shimmering night afar, 
My spirit in wild insistence 
Shall pierce to that maiden star. 



lOI 



THE PRIMAL STRAIN 

I hold it true that every man 
Has deep within that breast of his 
A strain that reaches back to Pan, 
And stirs at woodland mysteries. 

What though the mind be cultured-filled? 
The tiny drop of Satyr blood 
To riotous unrest is thrilled 
At call of that old pagan god. 

The chance-heard whistle of the thrush, 
Odor of meadows after rain, 
Striking the senses mid the rush 
And turmoil of the strife for gain, 

Will in a pulse-throb sweep away 
Stone walls that seem to touch the sky, 
And lead us where the breezes play. 
And deep alluring shadows lie. 

Or where the loud-complaining brook 
Tumbles in riot down the glen, 
While shelving bank and foamy nook 
Conceal the speckled denizen. 

As merry April leads along 
The bright procession of the hours, 
A homesick longing, fierce and strong, 
Tugs mightily, with growing powers, 

Upon those cords that lead adown 
Into the red heart's central core. 
And waken primal instincts, sown 
Within the bosom long of yore. 
1 02 



Happy is he whose wistful eye 
May gaze once more on field and hill, 
And all the thousand charms descry 
That Nature's tiniest spaces fill. 

For him red blood and thews of steel, 
And joy of life throughout the year, 
Pleasures that they alone can feel 
Who live to Nature's bosom near. 

For when the final tale is told. 

It comes to this — man's strength, at best, 

And spirit free and uncontrolled. 

Find common source within her breast. 

The men of brain, of bone and brawn, 
High thinkers they and men of worth, — 
The fruitage of the world's new dawn, 
Shall suckled be by Mother Earth. 



103 



SPRING IDYL 

Out in the sweet May morning, 
Yvette, the world adorning, 
And I, dull duty scorning, 
Haste where the red gods call. 
*Tis spring, when nothing single 
Can be where love-notes mingle 
But feels his blood a-tingle. 
And finds his heart in thrall. 

Beneath the spreading birches 
Whereon the linnet perches 
And sings a song that searches 
And thrills us through and through, 
What bliss beyond comparing 
When, with a sudden daring. 
Spite of the linnet staring, 
Each to the other drew. 

Our hearts a carol singing, 
Love glances flashing, winging, 
Aside all caution flinging, 
Our lips in kisses met. 
Ah, spite of years of sadness 
And toil, the piercing gladness, 
The ecstasy and madness 
That thrilled me, thrills me yet. 

Then through enchanted spaces 
Where sylph-like floral faces 
Smile up in dainty graces. 
We wander hand in hand : 
Till in the tender gloaming. 
Our footsteps earthward roaming. 
We come, like ringdoves homing. 
Back from love's fairy land. 
104 



ABSENCE 

I sit where star-crowned Shelley smiles 
And rapturous Keats displays 
His sweetest, most alluring wiles 
Before my listless gaze. 

The mighty minds of ages gone, 
Each one a flaming light 
To lead my spirit up and on, 
Unheeded are tonight. 

Reproachfully they all look down, 
Giants of song and tale. 
And watch me sitting here alone, 
While Fancy's crew assail. 

In order is the household all. 
In wonted place each thing. 
Yet down the stairway, past the tall 
Old clock, a whispering 

Like filmy shadow of a sound 
Heard by the spirit's ear. 
Pervades the air and hovers round 
My lonely vigil here. 

And footfalls light as fairy feet 
Along a rose-leaf way. 
When in their flowery revels meet 
Those dainty sprites and gay. 

And scarce-heard rustlings seem to swing 
The stirring drapery. 
More faint than whir of linnet's wing 
Among the shrubbery. 

105 



A subtle presence through the room, 
Less palpable and dense 
Than far-blown sweets from unseen bloom, 
A sense within the sense, 

Brings to my soul a nameless cheer, 
Until I seem to see 
Her spirit brooding o'er me here 
Who holds my heart in fee. 



1 06 



SUNSET LIGHTS 

Along the deepening vale of life, 
As sunset's shadows longer grow, 
Fair memories come tumultuous, rife 
With dreams and hopes of long ago. 

And through the sombre darkness here 
Pierce sunny gleams from days gone by 
That lighten all the passage drear 
With youthful joys and triumphs high. 

And so the downward sloping path 
Holds neither fear nor dread for me; 
Since life's most fragrant aftermath 
Grows sweeter as the seasons flee. 

What though the head be bowed and gray. 
While winter's cold and summer's heat 
Have tamed the active limbs, yet may 
The heart to youthful measures beat. 

The magic spell of field and wood, 
The sunset with its red and gold. 
The brooklet with its rushing flood. 
May charm as keenly as of old. 

And when this throbbing heart forgets 
In swifter flight its blood to send 
At sight of April's violets, 
'Twill be the end, 'twill be the end. 



107 



SONNETS 



KEATS 

More sweet than Hyblan honey is thy song. 
Like clean-cut cameos thy pictures stand. 
Be sure the Muse with her own plastic hand 
Attuned thy lyre, and by her spirit strong 
Thine own was led beyond the common throng, 
Along Arcadian vales, to that fair land 
Where visions dwell, and there at her command 
The speech of gods was given to thy tongue. 
What Nymphs and Dryads overran thy dream! 
What ecstasy of longing hast thou known! 
Along what rose-embowered Latmian stream 
Were dulcet-bosomed Naiads to thee shown 
As, straying 'neath thy Cynthia's witching beam, 
She stooped from heaven and took thee for her 
own? 



Ill 



SHELLEY 

Thou fiery spirit of the upper air, 

Like thine own skylark pulsing loud in song, 

Stern fighter for the weak against the strong, 

Our earthly praise were least of all thy care. 

Intrepid spirit that would keenly dare 

On wings of morning soar the worlds among, 

With that sidereal host dost thou belong 

About Orion and the northern Bear. 

Clear beauty and the spirit's life are thine. 

Crowned art thou evermore with diadem 

Of lambent flame, whose jeweled lightnings shine 

Across the years oblivion to condemn. 

The whole world in thy music dost entwine, 

Each word a song and every song a gem. 



112 



MILTON 

As some tremendous Himalayan peak 
At sunset throws its splendor o'er the world, 
Thy lone and austere genius towers impearled 
By light of time which gilds the summit bleak. 
Our trembling mortal spirits, frail and weak, 
Shrink back from pitchy blackness tossed and 

swirled 
In that vast cauldron down to which were hurled 
Archangels bright who dared God's power to seek. 
Yet far below thy mighty genius' crest. 
Amid the bright beginnings of thy song. 
Lie sunny vales where Nymphs and Naiads blest 
On twinkling feet dance gaily all day long. 
And one loved spot, where Lycid lies at rest. 
Is still a shrine to which the poets throng. 



113 



R. L. S. 

Thou gentle gossiper of things divine, 
Thou white-souled lover of the sunny world, 
Though flayed by M^eakness, thy brave spirit hurled 
Thy soul into life's active battle line. 
Unsullied honor and clear manhood shine 
From all thy pages, every page impearled 
With jevs^elled thought. Close in our hearts up- 
furled, 
Thy memory hath there its perfect shrine. 
By w^hat svreet alchemy hast thou so wrought 
That each unlovely thing thy presence flees? 
What sage or god thy kindly spirit taught 
To lead us into those far southern seas 
Where thine impressionable soul had caught 
The haunting songs of the Hesperides? 



114 



LINCOLN 

Thou monument of every good that lies 

Among the common people of the land, 

Secure is thy great fame. Thou still dost stand 

Colossal among giants. To our eyes 

Thy rugged features, like the bright sunrise, 

Are all aglow with light serene and grand 

Which has its source in thy true heart's demand 

For mercy blent with firmness just and wise. 

Nor do the mists of passing decades hide 

Thy glory, which yet shineth clear and bright 

From chaos of thy times, and doth abide 

Like some high mountain hidden from our sight 

When near at hand, but towering magnified 

By distance to its lonely mystic height. 



"5 



A SEQUENCE OF FOUR SONNETS 

Demeter, great earth-mother, take thou me, 
Thy foster child outworn with toil and pain. 
Within thy soothing arms the fretful chain 
Of custom falls, and leaves my spirit free 
To worship and to take its joy in thee. 
Far, far removed from life's mad hurricane 
And vortex of contention, where in vain 
I strive thy faithful servitor to be. 
Thus pillowed on thy bosom let me hear 
The grasses rustling round me as I lie, 
And all the woodland blossoms that uprear 
Their dainty heads, and gossip knowingly 
Of things too deep for my dull mortal ear, 
Of death and life and their dim mystery. 

II 

Great mother, take me to thine inmost heart. 

Teach me the secret language of the flowers, 

And what they say throughout the sunny hours. 

Tell the sweet means by which thou dost impart 

Its odor to the rose, and bid it start 

In pulsing new, what time the winter cowers 

And flees before the all-compelling powers 

Of great Apollo with his golden dart. 

Tell me the secret of the violet's blue. 

The hawthorn's white, the pink carnation's blush 

How doth the budding foliage renew 

Its tender green along the swaying bush? 

What signal dost thou give the iris crew 

To decorate the shore with verdure lush? 



n6 



Ill 

O mighty mother, stern and yet so mild, 

Show how the sap distils along the trees 

Until the smallest twigs of each of these 

Are thrilled with spring-time joy and gladness wild, 

And, like thy lowliest hidden grassy child. 

Put forth brave show of vernal greeneries: 

And fluttering their new mantles to the breeze, 

Murmur in innocence all undefiled. 

What may the purport of their whisperings be? 

Do they the mystery of life disclose, 

And what comes after death, when suddenly 

The vital spark that through our being glows 

Expires, and with fast glazing eyes we see 

The light that from Elysium overflows? 

IV 

Alas! the secret still is hidden deep. 

In heedless babble talk the nodding leaves: 

Yet my soothed spirit now but faintly grieves. 

Drawn Letheward by dreamy restful sleep. 

The frolic winds along the hillside sweep 

And make irate the buzzing honey thieves 

Whose gauzy wings, when boisterous Zephyr heaves, 

Are all too frail their wonted poise to keep. 

My soul is led the slumbrous vales along 

By leafy lullabies, and murmurous tune 

Of buried runnels, and the cradle-song 

Of vagrant bees who hum a sleepy rune. 

Demeter, mother, fruitful young and strong. 

Thou bringest rest, thy tired children's boon. 



117 



PROSERPINE 

Six times the moon hath changed, O Proserpine, 
Since last thy presence cheered this world of ours. 
But with awakened life of leaves and flowers, 
And flow of sap along the tree and vine, 
Thou comest with thy quickening smile divine, 
Abandoning the gloomy Stygian bowers 
Where thou must spend the dreary winter hours. 
And now thy breath intoxicates like wine! 
Thy velvet footfalls fill the earth with bloom: 
Joy bringest thou to hearts that need it sore: 
Thou banishest the weariness and gloom 
That dull gray skies into our spirits bore, 
And standest beckoning beyond the tomb, — 
The symbol clear of life forevermore. 



ii8 



TO FANNY 

Dear gracious lady with the diadem 
Of silver tresses round thy queenly head, 
Through all the pleasant seasons that have fled 
Since to my keeping came the priceless gem 
Of thy pure friendship, which doth ever hem 
My life with sweet observance, and hath led 
To knowledge of thy virtues, — garlanded 
Forget-me-nots enshrine both thee and them. 
Whatever envious time may bring to me, 
Within my heart shall be no trace of fear, 
So that thou keep me in thy memory 
And thy blithe spirit float forever near; 
Even though thine earthly presence may not be 
Perceived by these mine eyes that hold thee dear. 



119 



TO A CROCUS 

Thou pert and daring flower that pushest through 
The lingering snow to show thy winsome face, 
Thou sweet forerunner of the dainty grace 
Of spring, when blossoms full of sun and dew 
And perfume come, thy cheerful smiles renew 
The summer in my heart, and drive all trace 
Of stormy winter back to that dim place 
Where half -forgotten memories lie perdu. 
The mystic charm that the reviving year 
Brings to our hearts, within thy chalice lies. 
Thy velvet lips unto the spirit's ear 
Whisper of stirring life that soon shall rise 
From the new-kindled earth, and lead anear 
Long vanished joys to reminiscent eyes. 



120 



IN NOVEMBER 

O'er all the face of torpid nature lies 
An elemental desolation vast, 

That speaks of life which from the earth has passed, 
And left its dull dead husk to film our eyes. 
But hope, to still the spirit's mournful cries, 
Bids each his vision on the future cast, 
(Beyond the time of wintry storm and blast,) 
When life triumphant over death shall rise. 
Since thus the fecund womb of mother earth 
May keep immortal even grass and flowers, 
How must the demons, in discordant mirth, 
Mock at our tremblings when death's shadow low- 
ers; 
And howl and dance in glee to see the dearth 
Of faith and knowledge in these hearts of ours. 



121 



UNREST 

I know not by what sweetest alchemy 

This grizzled, time-worn, weary heart of mine 

Beats with a youthful zest and joy divine, 

What time the powers of darkness have set free 

The goddess of the spring, Persephone. 

Her breath, like incense from some hidden shrine 

Doth permeate my being, and incline 

To dreams of happiness that may not be. 

What strange unrest doth agitate my soul 

With longings that I do not understand? 

Doth my immortal spirit seek control 

Of its own destiny, and make demand 

For freedom from that sadness, ages old, 

Which rings humanity on every hand? 



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